Hesitations: Donnie & April
by Jay Jones
Summary: Why did making love with April only seem to introduce, not remove, complications for Donatello? Inner demons old and new rear their heads for both teen and Turtle. Forced to grapple with desire, doubt and self-discovery, romance becomes a rocky and complex coast to navigate...The follow-up story to Revelations: Donnie & April.
1. Prologue

**HESITATIONS: Donnie &amp; April**

**_Prologue – Doing the Stupid thing. _**

_"You talk too much"  
__April, "Target: April O'Neil__"_

_._

"O-FAHK'ing-_PAH!_" April snarled as the dinner plate careened into the concrete wall of the Lair's kitchen directly beside Donatello's quickly ducked head. The ninja Turtle could feel as if in slow motion the thousand tiny ceramic shards ping off the back of his shell and thick purple headband. The discomfort was nothing compared to the million shrapnel butterflies lashing the inside of his stomach.

"Now, A-April…", Donnie stuttered, back-peddling like it was a stage in the Tour de France, "We say things when we're angry…"

"_Shut it_, Donatello", April interrupted, "When were you gonna tell me that you decided to forget to reh-" – her voice hitched on the last word – "to remember?!", she finished.

'_Oh GOD_', April thought to herself, '_do I have to sound so __**desperate**_?' She felt out of control. If Donatello's choice not to acknowledge the best day of her life – a day spent making love with _him_ – wasn't a clear invitation for her to move on, then surely it was a hand-delivered, arsenic-laced note from The Shredder.

April's shoulders slumped. The room started to spin. She braced one hand on the wall: _inhale_ –_ exhale_; _pull it together…_ Then all of sudden a single word projected itself onto the canvas of her brain:

**_FUKKIT_**

Paradoxically, Donnie's lasting impression of his argument with the only person, and the only human, he'd ever adored was the strawberry-spiced scent of April's hair as she swept past him, a terrifying red-headed Fury, and out of the Turtles' lair into the city above.

.

* * *

_**A/N**: T__o riff on a fictitious slogan for an airline, "I'm not happy unless my characters are unhappy". But full disclosure: I love the Donatello-April pairing, for many reasons. _

_The main reason is probably that when Donnie and April come together, it's this small, bright reassurance that any of us can find love despite our foibles and flaws; a tiny testament (ok, ok, albeit fictitious) that any of us can be wanted and known, **really known**, by someone else. _

_But where I enjoy exploring Apriltello the most (aside from the romantic, sultry, pelvis-warming stuff) is tipping the tables on standards and presumptions – such as: April's lucky that Donnie loves and accepts her, not just the other way around; and April's character is much more than a love interest, and she's got her own sh*t to take care of. _

_Lastly? Healthy conflict = growth. And for these two very intelligent, ambitious characters, change and growth is their MO. It just doesn't mean that the growth is always is the same direction. And that sets the stage for the (I hope) delicious tension in this next story of my little Apriltelloverse. _

_Sweet, Sweet Readers I hope that you enjoy and –gasp!– **pleasepleaseplease review!**_


	2. Chapter 1

**_Chapter 1 – Reimmersion _**_(several weeks prior to the Prologue)_

_"Booyakasha"  
April, "Revelations: Donnie &amp; April"_

_._

The still air of the subterranean train station cooled rapidly as the sun set. Retreating sunbeams raised the gracious, long-abandoned passenger hall from a handsome Art Deco relic to a vibrant chiaroscuro scene.

Long shadows stretched their fingers over the stone sunk-relief carvings to plunge into sprays of vast wrought-iron flowers. Perched on the antique wall sconces, solar-sensitive lamps flared to life like tiny stars. Pinpoints in the dark, Donatello had installed them so that he could always see his way in his covert refuge, a sanctuary where he found balance and rest.

His super-secret-sanctuary that April had broken into. In a nice way. As the summer sun was arcing across the New York City skyline, Donnie had been seduced by the auburn-haired young woman into almost of full day of sex. Sex that he'd had for the first time. Sex that was incredible.

With April, Donnie had achieved peace-of-mind in new and highly unexpected ways.

Against the room's chill, April slowly stirred. Drowsily, she blinked against the peachy sunlight that exaggerated the angles of the walls soaring towards the surface above her. Stretching languidly from crown to toe, she ran a mental body check. Her muscles felt stiff and sore, in the very best ways; especially those she hadn't used like that before. All the more reason for future - um, practise.

April could feel Donnie next to her. She lazily turned her head to admire the teen Turtle. Lying on his side with one arm flung over his head in a mock wave, the other curled against his plastron, he looked perfectly at ease, and…beautiful.

To April, Donnie's body was strength and grace kissed by Springtime. Her eyes followed the line of his three broad fingers to where they touched the intricate weave of rug they'd slept on, made love on -

Wow.

They'd made love.

How crazy was that?

_Not as crazy as it was wonderful_, smiled April inwardly.

She noticed that Donnie's left thigh was curled around her right one. That explained why her leg hadn't woken up with the rest of her body. Pins and needles started to set in.

"Donatello", she breathed, to no reply.

"_Donatello_", she spoke, louder, her hand gently rocking his shoulder.

\- crickets -

Reaching down, April gently disentangled herself from her friend and lover without him showing the slightest sign of cognition. Ninja or not, he was utterly out in the way that only teenagers can be as they sleep; and even more so after the delirious exertion of the past seven hours.

As she moved from Donnie's warmth the cool air nipped her exposed skin. _Where were her clothes?_ Oh, yeah: her pack was behind the dressing screen in the corner, where she'd left it after she'd slunk in that morning. The summer dress she had changed into to seduce Donnie with was lost amongst the sea of rugs and flotilla of cushions over which they'd rolled, and then slept.

'_That's OK_. _It'll give me a good excuse to come back here'_, April joked silently to herself.

The nimble teen softly padded back behind the screen to recover her pack and get dressed.

As April found her jean shorts and t-shirt, she mused that so much had happened between her and Donnie that the morning felt like a lifetime ago. She smiled thinking how profound it had felt that he'd let her play his body like the phenomenal instrument of power, passion and pleasure that it was.

Better still: there were fleshly frontiers they'd chosen to wait to explore…They were taking things, if not exactly slowly, then at their own pace. They had other ways of achieving peace-of-mind to look forward to.

She was still struck by how a ninja of Donnie's lethal skill was also perfectly tender. And perfectly rough, she smirked inwardly, reminiscing.

April shook her head to clear the sensual daydream. As she finished slipping on her street clothes she felt a tiny pall settle over her. When she was with Donatello – when they had been _together_ – everything else in the universe had fallen away. Cloaked with Donnie's adorations, April had forgotten the Kraang, The Foot, her own confused mutant pedigree, her French exam…everything in real life that ate at her mind on a weekly – nope, make that daily, basis.

Real life certainly could suck.

'_Waiddaminute',_ April started: Cool air; Sunset…'_Dammit, what time was it now anyway?_'

Crud. She'd been out all day with her T-phone off and she wouldn't be shocked if her Dad was freaking out by now. They all knew she was on-again off-again bounty for Pepto-Bismol aliens and a crazed kunoichi. And, god - she badly needed a shower. April was loathe to go, but she had to get home stat.

It felt dishonourable to leave Donnie like he was a one-night stand; to April he was anything but. She cast another look at him. She couldn't bring herself to disturb such a visibly deep and peaceful sleep - especially since Master Splinter was going to kick Don's butt for missing afternoon practise. If she texted Donnie, his T-Phone might chirp, or worse (what _was_ that annoying ringtone he had?). The least she could do was write a note.

Shoving her arm deep into her pack she tried to fish out paper and pen – harder to do than she thought since she worked almost exclusively by laptop. After her fingernails scraped only crumbs on the pack's floor she gave up. Looking around in frustration, she spied a pen and scrap of paper on Donnie's wooden bureau. His refuge was tech-free, so it made total sense that the cerebral Turtle would record his thoughts old-school!

Chewing on the pen cap, she mused on what to write. Everything she could think of felt corny, or much-too-much for only a couple square inches of real estate. Suddenly a profound moment bubbled up from her memory:

_"It doesn't seem to matter how much I try - or try not-to-try; I can't fit in. I don't think I'll ever be anything __but__ a loser, Don."_

_"April."_ The Turtle had gently tipped the teen's chin towards his own _"Having gotten to know you, I have come to the conclusion that being a loser is tragically underrated. Let's face it: for a loser, there is no place left to fall. Except in love. With you. So colour me lost, Freckles."_

His kiss had been tender and perfect.

Inspired, April quickly jotted:

_Love you, Loser ; ) Hope we get to do this again real soon? (Pretty please?) A. xoxo _

Now, how to make sure Donnie saw it? OH, his mask! Could she find Donnie's mask? In a spot of luck, there it was, a tongue of purple fabric licking out from beneath a cushion. She gently extracted the thick band and placed it carefully on top of her note, which she propped up against Donnie's cute _bonsai_ tree. If nothing else Donnie would have to retrieve his mask and see her note.

Mission accomplished!

The teen quietly hoisted her pack onto her shoulder and moved to the well-oiled door. Casting a final, longing look on her Turtle, April slipped from the room and made her way to the smouldering city above.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Recollection**

_"She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen!"  
_Donatello, "Rise of the Turtles"

.

**_"OH_**_shellohshellohshellohshelloh__**SHELL**__."_

Donatello was officially awake.

_He had missed training_.

He had. **MISSED.** **_TRAINING_**.

Donnie had opened his sleep-filled amber eyes to witness the last of dusk's apricot glow glide up the walls and ebb through the ceiling grates as the setting sun shift-changed with the rising moon. Darkness silently soaked into the subterranean hall.

He'd blinked slowly, confused as to what he was doing lying on the floor. Traffic and subway sounds rumbled through concrete and metal. Recollection had dawned.

_April._

The Ninja Turtle had shot up to a seated position, looking around the great room so frantically that his head should have whipped off to land among his many piles of books. Forcing himself to calm down and sit still, Donnie strained to hear any signs that April was still there with him.

The silence was physically painful. He yearned to gather the adorable teen in his arms again, and kiss her long and deep and sweet. _How long ago had she left?_

_Exactly how long had __**he**____been here?_

Woozily, Donnie dragged himself to his feet, and trudged through cushions like a kid wading in deep snow. He didn't know what to stress about more: April's departure or missing afternoon training.

For the moment, he settled on training; Splinter would have his shell, not only for bailing on practice but, even worse, for going off-grid all day.

He'd turned his T-phone off as per usual when he took an hour or two for himself in his refuge. He'd never in a million alternate dimensions anticipated the love-a-thon that April had initiated – let alone how to handle what came after it. Yet he'd been totally unreachable, and no one had known where he was.

Mikey or Raph might do stupid crap like that, but it wasn't Donnie's style. What on Earth was he going to tell his sensei, his father? With the Kraang and the Foot Clan both keen on eating turtle soup lately, he was betting that his family had assumed the worst and would be in full panic mode by now.

Grim-faced, Donnie flipped on his T-phone to check his messages:

"Where r u D? Training soon…" – Leo  
"Where R U? Training NOW" – Leo

"L's bein even more of an (_*_) cos of u. Get back soon." – Raph

"bring pizza Δ" – Mikey

"If Splinter knew how 2 text he'd text 'U R L8 4 training'" – Leo  
"We're training" – Leo  
"U missed training" – Leo

"leo and raph kicked my butt in training. bring apology pizza {:l Δ " – Mikey

"Splinters on the Cheez Fone BAHAHA. U R toast." – Raph

"Where's April? I hope you guys are training" – Leo

"r u with aaaapriiiiillll? :-*** " – Mikey  
"can april bring pizza? ~Δ~ " – Mikey

"R U OK?" – Leo

"Seriously where are ya Don?" – Raph

"we're gonna scout for you D don't worry help's coming!" – Leo

"U better be in trouble cos otherwise you're in bigger trouble" – Raph

"u owe us pizza bigtime bro :-( ΔΔΔΔΔΔ" – Mikey

.

**_Shell._**

No texts from April. _What did that mean?_ _Why had she left without a word? _

April had instigated this day of lovemaking that was so precious to him. After everything, had she changed her mind? Just before she'd…she'd explored him, then _brought_ him, she'd said she wanted him to let go, to be exposed, vulnerable with her…

Was leaving him here part of that? Surely not;_ surely not after what they'd just shared…_

Suppressing the ill-blossoming seed of unease, he rapidly mass-texted his family:

"Im safe home soon dont worry [SORRYSORRYSORRY]+-8!"

No matter how he worked it, he had to get back to the Lair **now**.

Except first he had to wash off all the sex.

Even though, in a slightly gross way, Donatello wanted to keep April's musk on his skin, he acknowledged that he desperately needed to bathe. The scent would be a dead give-away to his brothers and father than he and April had been, erm, _excessively friendly_ with each other. The teasing would be more brutal and merciless than a 12-hour "Space Heroes" marathon. He needed to figure out what to tell them instead. He wasn't at all ready to have _that_ discussion with his family.

Ever.

Also, he wanted to have that discussion with April first.

Donnie hurtled towards the copper faucet just inside the room's entrance door and cranked on the water. Splashing and scrubbing his arms, legs, plastron and shell like a crazed bird in a garden bath, he thought about how he felt. He'd not only been intimate with someone else for the first time in his life, but with the woman of his dreams, a _human_ woman.

_Never in a million alternate dimensions…._

His lower body washed, he rinsed his shoulders, neck and face – which is when he noticed: _his mask_! April had worn his purple mask (and _only_ his mask) as part of her seduction of him – the same mask that he'd then blindfolded her with to do unspeakably wonderful sex-things to her…

As torrid memories and florid technical jargon started deluging his mind, Donnie felt a heat build in his groin. "_YUNNHH! Not Now_!" He had to keep moving, get home.

Where the sh_ell_ was his mask? No way could he leave here without it! Donnie dove back into the cushions, searching for the long strip of thick amethyst cloth. Panicking, he came up empty handed.

Then, from his kneeling position, he could see purple dripping over the side of his bureau, where he'd originally tossed the mask that morning. Quickly, he reached up and snatched the fabric off the desk, scattering a bunch of papers onto the floor – including April's love note to him.

"**_Got it!_**" Air-punching victoriously, Donnie tied the band around his head, leapt up and raced back to the door to reinstate his carefully stored wraps and pads, leathers and bo staff, around his body.

Even while harried, his mind wouldn't let go of the past several hours. Donnie reflected on how out of his head he was for April's feel, her scent, her taste (_oh Sweet Reason, he totally had to brush his teeth soon, too!_). Despite his rush he realized that he felt looser, more relaxed than he ever had; as though he'd unknowingly spent his whole life coiled tight like a spring. He felt that he'd tapped more deeply into the well of personal power he carried inside of himself (_as well as stumbled upon a whole new fun way to accrue emotional baggage!_, chided the anxious side of his mind).

Anyway: _If this was love, he was all in._

The door to Donnie's sanctuary quickly and silently wheeled open and shut behind him. The racing Ninja Turtle was but a flash of bottle green in the dimly lit sewer tunnels funneling towards the Lair.

No matter what happened next, no matter how many push-ups and toilet cleanings and whatever-elses Splinter punished him with, all of this was worth it, a thousand times over.

Donatello just hoped that April felt the same way.

.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Donnie's text, "[SORRY...SORRY]+-8", is my geeky futile FF way of trying to insert the mathematical symbol for infinity, in both positive and negative directions. True infinity, man. Totally underused maths symbol :)_


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Connections **_(parallel timeline to "Revelations" [aka while Donnie and April geddidawn])_

_._

"_You guys treat me like I'm a big goofball all the time! _..._You guys never take me seriously!_"  
Michelangelo, "Mikey Gets Shellacne"

.

Under Raphael's heel, Michelangelo' face was crushed into the dojo carpet for the twelfth time that afternoon. The youngest of the four Ninja Turtles dry-heaved against the ripe pong of his brother's sweat-soaked foot wraps.

Raph feigned boredom even as he worked his toes further into Mikey's nostrils.

"_Raphael_!"

"_Hai_, Master Splinter!", Raph called back, his eyes never leaving Mikey's skwushed face.

"Do you not think your brother has suffered enough defeats today, that you must rub your victory so literally into his face?"

"UUHHHHNN", groaned Mikey from the floor. "Thur agurnee urv de-feet."

"Nah, _Sensei_. I'm just showin' him a nicer version of what would happen if the _Foot Clan_ kicked his _butt_."

"Yame, Raphael. Michelangelo is your brother, and your ally in battle. You must show him _respect_."

The ninja Master lifted a slender index finger, letting it hover in mid-air as if gauging a phantom breeze. Sensing their father and teacher warm into a lecture, the three teen Turtles were not left waiting long:

"My sons – one must respect one's opponent. To belittle the enemy is to expose one's _own_ weakness. _Reflect_ on this question:

If you cannot, and do not, respect others, then how can you recognize how to properly respect your_self_? _Respect_ is the way of the ninja; not childish _taun_ting."

"Yeuah, Rurph", Mikey slurred from under Raph's foot before blowing him a wet, lopsided raspberry.

Ever since the Turtles were little kids Raphael and their now-captain, Leonardo, had been the most skilled fighters. Raph, because he was built like a small tank, behaved in kind, and liked it that way; Leo, because he was an impeccably detail-oriented, tireless over-achiever driven by a relentless need to please Sensei. Which – sidebar – pissed Raph off no end.

Donatello and Michelangelo brought their own unique strengths to the foursome but these skills were, respectively, more intellectual and…well, _other_. Mikey and Donnie were polar opposites in that one brother thought too much, while the other, not much at all. Or so Mikey's brothers always assumed.

In truth, it wasn't that Mikey didn't think, so much as _what_ and _how_ he thought that perplexed his family. Perplexed most everyone, really.

In Michelangelo's brain, logic was a foreign language in a foreign land, operating without a compass. Maybe because of this, Mikey had the exceptional ability to see through other people's carefully crafted facades, to read them like open books, understand their emotions and drives even when they themselves were oblivious.

Because Mikey's heart was wide open, he could bulls-eye the true essence of anyone: human, mutant, alien or, sometimes, furniture. To Mikey, being emotionally available signaled strength, not vulnerability. Which – sidebar – pissed Raph off no end.

This strength was how Mikey knew in a breeze that Raph was really, deeply concerned that Donatello had not shown up for training that afternoon and was still _in absentia_. Leo, on the other hand, had been texting Donnie vociferously for the past three hours; it was pretty obvious to even the tree in the dojo that Leo was, if at first annoyed, now very worried.

In any given training session, Raph and Leo made a leisure pursuit of wailing on Mikey and Donnie. Today, with Donnie AWOL, and his brothers concerned, Mikey was not only the sole target but also had been thrashed more than twice as vehemently. Raph had deployed brute force, an approach so obvious that Mikey understood perfectly well how he got licked. Leo, on the other hand, had inexplicably outmanoeuvered Mikey repeatedly, making a game of leading his younger brother by the nose only to let him fall – as always – on his adorable green face.

Beating up on Mikey was a stress-release thing for his brothers. Mikey got it. Didn't mean he liked it.

Huffing in response to his father's command, Raphael lifted his foot away from his brother's cheek, admiring the cheesecloth topography his foot wraps had splayed across Mikey's freckles. Straightening up, the red-banded Turtle retracted his _sais_ and bowed stiffly to Splinter. Then, irritably, he spun on his heel and left the dojo.

With a deferential but distracted "_arigato_", Leonardo also bowed to his Sensei and exited the room, flipping on his T-phone as he went.

Ignoring the abrupt end to this training session, Master Splinter sighed. He, too, was deeply concerned that Donatello – his most responsible son second to Leonardo – had mysteriously failed to appear at their regular and mandatory practice. But unlike the two sons who had just left, Splinter suspected that Donatello's disappearance was not due to nefarious intervention; unless one considered a red-headed teenage girl nefarious. This, for the father of a teenage boy, was highly tempting. Splinter was not at all sure how he would handle things if his unspoken theory proved correct.

In the meantime, he had another teenage son to Father. Splinter moved to Mikey as he collected himself into a kneeling position and re-tied his signature tangerine-coloured mask around his head.

Seeing his typically buoyant son uncharacteristically dejected, concern flowed from the Rat's ochre eyes.

"My son: are you alright?"

His own bright baby blue eyes downturned, Mikey chewed on his lower lip. Something about this training session had really gotten to him – in part because he was also beginning to worry about Donnie: was he ever gonna come back with pizza?

"Sensei, I know that Raph's stronger than me. An' he sees through my moves, even if they are totally rad…

But, Leo - why can't I see _any_ of what _Leo_ does to put me down, _every_ time?! Around Leo, I feel like a tool – a complete tool, not a partial one, not like Donnie's measuring pipette-thing that I used to hammer those metal picture-hooks into the bathroom cupboard doors...

I'm constantly out-strat-eh-juh-sized, Sensei: by my bros, by the Foot, the Kraang, the delivery dude who slipped me _Canadian_ change for the pizza last week…_I'm really __done__ with this_!", Mikey finished in exasperation, his shoulders slumped towards his toes.

Michelangelo rarely got upset. When he did, Splinter knew that his boy was truly in despair.

The Master thought carefully about what advice to give his Pupil. It was always hardest with Michelangelo. Splinter, like most everyone, had the toughest time putting himself into the boy's inimitable headspace. A family memory came to him:

"Michelangelo, do you remember when you were younger and liked to play that game of _vertical tic-tac-toe_? The one with _red_ and _yellow_ discs that Donatello scavenged when you were but children…"

Mikey looked to the side, deep in recall.

"Oh, yeah… _Kinekt Force_?"

"That is the one", Splinter confirmed. "Do you recall how frustrated you became with it, losing game after game?"

"I think I once got so mad that I ate a coupla' pieces, didn't I?"

"Yee-esss, Michelangelo: as we all observed about one day later in the toilet. Of course, eating the pieces - which were forever lost because no one in their right mind was going to recover them - did not help you to overthrow your opponents; particularly not Leonardo or Donatello. Do you know why they continued to win?"

"Because they're smarter than me", Mikey replied very glumly and no less resolutely.

"Well, you make a good case, my son; but that is not the real reason. When you played, you focused _only_ on what _you_ were doing – not on what _your opponent_ was doing. Much as you did during training today.

Truthfully, Michelangelo, I remain surprised by this self-defeating habit of yours. You are gifted with a rare, and deep, awareness of others' states of mind and heart. If you were to tap into this ability during battle, you would not be so easily outmaneuvered. I have no doubt that you would anticipate your adversary's _thoughts_ and _emotions_, and hence _subsequent actions_, towards your _own_ victory."

Michelangelo reflected on this.

It took a while.

Patiently, Splinter meditated on the sound of his son's brain-gears churning.

Finally, Mikey spoke his thoughts aloud:

"Sooooo…Sensei – if that's true, if I do have this ability; then…are you also thinking that Donnie missed practice this afternoon 'cos he was with April?"

Splinter jerked back in shock, golden eyes saucer-wide: _Did Michelangelo know of this affair? Or had his son truly been so sensitive as to observe, as had he, the intensifying exchanges, the heat, the tension building between his scientifically-minded son and the young, fierce kunoichi who now very clearly returned his affections?_

"Yyy-yes, Michelangelo. What do you know of this?"

"Nuthin', Sensei. Just that they've been really disgustingly googly-eyed over each other for the past few weeks. And April's seemed especially fidgety lately. If they've finally snuck out for pizza all by themselves, then they totally owe the rest of us, big time."

Mikey was interrupted by Hero Turtle Leo shouting from the lair's common area:

"Mikey! We're going out to find Donnie! We're leaving NOW – _Come on!_"

Michelangelo signed and shrugged his shoulders. After checking to make sure his _nunchaku_ were in place, he bowed to Master Splinter, and then hugged him.

"Thanks, Sensei. If we find Donnie at _Antonio's_, we'll bring some pie home for you."

"Pizza may be the least of our worries right now, my son."

Mikey stared at Splinter for a slow heartbeat, eye ridges lifted and mouth agape in incredulity. Then, shaking his head, he turned and sprinted to join his brothers. The three Ninja Turtles vaulted over the lair's turnstiles and into the underworld of NYC to search for Donatello.

.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ "Kinekt Force" is of course a thinly-veiled reference to the classic real-life game of a similar name. The game will come up again in future chapters, hopefully in ways that amuse, Dear Reader. As ever, I'd be delighted to know what you think so far!_


	5. Chapter 4

So much has happened with the Nick TMNT plotline that I won't even going to try to keep up. As my Apriltelloverse was always adjacent to the Nick show, I'm not too bothered that my fic isn't canon per say. I hope you're not either, Sweet Readers, and that you enjoy this latest chaptah! And thanks so much for the encouragement to keep writing! The love this story's received is duly noted, inspiring to me, and oh-so-greatly appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Consternation**

_"Not bad for a nobody"  
_April, _"Karai's Vendetta"_

_. _

"**I WARN YOU, IMPUDENT REPROBATE: I AM NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH**."

"_Sir_, if you want to board your domestic flight then you'll need to comply with TSA regulations and remove all metal objects before passing through the scanner."

**"Your request is reprehensible. Do you have ANY idea who ****I. ****_AM_****?**"

"Hmm, let's see: you're a very tall passenger who's _late_ for his flight to… [checks boarding pass] …_the-middle-of-nowhere_ seated in _Economy_ Class and dangerously close to receiving a TSA-regulation rectal probe. Now, I'm going ask you this one last time, sir: please remove your _metal paraphernalia_, including your, um, _Viking hat(?),_ empty your pockets of all loose change, and place everything in the bins provided. Including your cape."

**"It's NOT a ****_Cape_****. It's a CLOAK"**

"**_Father_**, you are being **_supremely _****emb****_arra_****ssing**! Just do what the degenerate airport security person says. We will **_avenge_** ourselves later."

_A little kid from the line shouts, "Gedd__**owt**__ofthe__**way**__, Cheese Grater Man, Imma visit my Gammie!"_

"**DAUGHTER, I will not be dictated to by a PEON of the ****GOVERNMENT****!**"

"Sir, please come with me to this _small inspection room_ where no one can hear you _squeal_…."

* * *

A few years ago scientists reported that revenge fantasies helped lower blood pressure and cortisol levels, thus soothing the body and mind. Since April's run-in with Karai, when she'd managed to escape by knocking The Shredder's _kunoichi_ daughter off-balance mentally and physically, April had concocted a stream of Foot Clan Revenge Vignettes so steady and varied that she was tempted to start a blog.

Shredder and Karai going through an airport security nightmare was one of those vignettes. Another fave was the two of them, destitute, and forced to start up a hedge-trimming business. They had the blades for it. Then there was the one where, instead of tunafish, Karai ate a Kraang alien by mistake…

Tonight, however, nothing was helping April fall asleep.

Other self-soothing tactics just fed the fire in her mind, and her hips.

The insomniac teen replayed the hours since she'd left Donatello's underground sanctuary-née-love-nest…

The walk back to April's apartment felt surprisingly short. Judging from the noise beyond her window, her neighbourhood was still ablaze with an annual street festival, attended by packs of happy people eating, friends drinking, couples holding hands…

It was cute to watch, yet so far from April's life that she had to shake her head at what "normal" had become to her.

She knew that she was missing out on a lot of the usual stuff that most teens did. But she was also living every fanboy/fangirl fantasy of adventure, intrigue, super-powers: and now, romance.

Nonetheless, other girls would be well within their rights to long for a traditional boyfriend – [April interrupted to ask herself: '_And what would "traditional" be, O'Neil? __**Human?**_'] – The teen had to laugh at herself. She remembered that night long ago when Donnie had fought to stop the Kraang from kidnapping her and her Dad, how she'd shrieked with fright when she'd first set eyes on Donatello.

Well. Looks could be deceiving.

April was used to being assumed less capable because she was female. And here she was: a computer-hacking _kunoichi_, somehow important enough to be hunted by aliens and criminals, who chilled with ninja for kicks.

'_Not bad for a girl, O'Neil_', she mused. '_Actually: not bad for anybody at all_'.

The simple thing of it was that April consistently held her own and kept it together. Perhaps the influence of her scientist father had armed her with powers of logic, lateral thinking and improvisation. Maybe the trauma of losing her mom as a young girl had built her resolve and resilience.

Through all the upheaval, pain and danger of the past year and more, April had survived. Not because of what she was; but because of _who_ she was.

That was what April was most proud of about herself. She was nothing if not a tough cookie: she bent, she didn't break. Except for chocolate.

And now, for Donatello.

April was still astounded that she knew such a spectacular creature, let alone loved him. She replayed in her mind for the umpteenth time her lovemaking with Don and all its gorgeous peculiarities.

She'd been not a little shocked to discover that it turned her on to play her fingers around, and then inside the soft, moist opening housing him. Once released, he'd been black as plum and just as delectable-looking.

She guessed that all four Turtles looked like that, but it was kind of like knowing human anatomy – it was the same for everyone, but each person was distinct.

Unable to deny Donatello's allure, and totally stoked, April had been compelled to stroke him; slowly at first, then more assertively, until it became clear that: she had to taste him. Then that wasn't enough: she had to feel him beneath her as she slid herself across his length, suede-over-steel slicked with her body's desire…

Oh, f*ck, she was lathered up again. Her inner, muscular walls contracted involuntarily; the insistent little heartbeat between her thighs demanded attention.

April capitulated to both insomnia and hormones. With Donnie's muscular and svelte physique in her mind's eye, she artfully trailed a soft hand between her breasts, down towards her aching hips, which hitched rhythmically in time with the urgent tapping at her window…**the ****_wait_****, WHAT**?!

"_APRIL! PSSSSST! AAAAAAPRIIIIILLLL! ARE YOU IN THERE!?_"

Michelangelo found himself knocking on April's window to ask if she knew where to find Donnie. This was a sensitive and potentially lethal mission that only he could complete. At least, that's what Leo and Raph had assured him of.

April panic-hid under her bed sheets.

_"Aaaaapril! AAAAAAApriiiiiiiiiil! This is really important! Someone's hiding under your bed sheets!_

"_Aw, MAN! ^*(&amp;%#!_", April cursed to herself. There was no getting out of this. The fastest way to get Mikey to leave was to let him in.

She gathered herself together as best she could, thanked Reason that she'd showered off Donatello's scent. April slipped from her bed to the window; which she unlocked and opened to let in the steamy summer's night air – and Michelangelo's pizza breath.

"Hey Mikey. S'up?" asked April in her most butter-wouldn't-melt tone.

"_April_" Mikey's big baby blues bore into April's soul. "Donnie's gone. We can't find him ANYWHERE!"

April faked confusion, knitting her brows appropriately in perplexitude. Mikey went on:

"Leo and Raph, they think he's in trouble with the Kraang or the Foot. But me and Sensei, well…APRIL, I gotta ask you something _really_ important. I'm _really-_really sorry if this is prying but: Did you and Donnie…um, you know…Go out for pizza without us? Like: by _yourselves_?"

For a second, April wasn't sure if she'd heard Mikey properly. Did she – go out for _pizza_ alone with Donnie? Oh, this was _perfect_. If she could keep from bursting out laughing, she could pull this off.

April fixed Mikey's eyes with her own, now drowned with intense concern and seriousness. She took one of his robust hands in hers.

"Michelangelo. We…we didn't want to say anything. We didn't want you or the others to feel hurt or left out. I hope that can you understand and forgive me: Yes. Donnie and I. We had pizza together. For the first time."

Mikey's eyes widened in shock, and then narrowed, bringing his freckles to the fore and showing the strain of his thought processes.

"WHOOOOAAAA. I don't know what to say. _You totally did it_. You had pizza with Donnie. Alone. Together. April, if I wasn't so happy for the two of you, I'd be _totally_ mad."

Knowing that he couldn't let April think she could just get away with such an affront untarnished, Mikey squinted at her in what he hoped was an appropriately unsettling way and cautioned:

"Just be thankful you guys didn't go for pizza _gyoza_ without us. Cos I don't know if I could get over that kind of betrayal, y' know?"

April couldn't help it. With an impish smile she replied, "I can't promise that Mikey. I kinda hope that Donnie and me will enjoy pizza gyoza by ourselves at some future time. But if that day comes then, my treat, I'll totally hook you up with Mr. Murakami. ("_Oh, that came out way wrong!", April quickly thought to herself._)

Mikey considered this for a few moments, his neurons ablaze creating visions of wing-tipped, halo-capped, _free_ pizza gyozas.

Daydream fading away, he spoke. "Yeah, well, sometimes I guess you just have to be with someone inna a certain way, right? Like, different people mean different things, like pieces in a puzzle, but they're all important to the big picture of who you are."

Unseated by Mikey's lucidity, April could only stutter, "Um, yeah, actually. That pretty much covers it. You certainly know how peoples' hearts tick, Mikey."

"It's a gift. Like when I filled Raph's pillowcase with peanut butter. Look, I don't wanna keep you, April. You're on your way to sleep and all –

Mikey looked over to April's bed and side-barred,_ "Hey! Where'd that other person go?"_

Turning back to April he finished his thought:

"– but, um, we're pretty worried about Donnie – we still can't find him – and we sent you some texts _which you clearly didn't get because you didn't bring back __pizza__ for us like I asked_. If you see Don, can you please tell him to come straight –

Donnie's text bleeped its arrival on Mikey's T-phone, which he quickly snapped from its holder to check.

"_Oooooh_. Looks like D's OK – and heading back to the Lair! This'll be so ehh-_piiiiiic_: Splinter's gonna **shuck** him like a **_clam_**. I don't wanna miss this! Gotta split, April, see you around!"

Like the ninja he was, Mikey was gone in a flash – and a poof of purple vapour as he detonated another of Donnie's hard-earned smoke bombs.

April sighed, rubbed her forehead and closed her window again. She'd follow up with Donnie in the morning. Taxed by her rapid-fire visit with the frenetic yet endearing Turtle, April fell onto her bed and into the deep sleep that only exhaustion can gift.

.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Also, I'd be remiss without a shout-out to Novus Ordo Seclorum, who rightly extolled the virtues of a "Bridge Chapter" and whose TMNT/Apriltello fics kick-ass in the most eloquent and sensual of ways and are absolutely worth reading._


	6. Chapter 5

_Mea culpa for the slow update time, Fair Readers. This chapter may be short but hopefully it appeals. Takes place simultaneously with Chapter 4 (Consternation)._

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Altercations**

_"__Who has two robotic legs, and loves to stomp turtles?"  
_Fishface, _The Pulverizer_

.

"_Maybe you should gedd thad_", Fishface breathed sourly into Raphael's muzzle, "becoz it's tha thurd time thad theeng's gone off, and the ringtone is starding to get on my nuuurves."

"More than _I_ am, Fishfarce?", Raph cast back at The Shredder's henchfish, punctuating his verbal jab with the point of one sai, as with the other, he deflected the rapid-fire swipes of Rahzar's stiletto claws.

"_Raph_, could we just _wrap_ this _up_ and get back to the _Lair_?" Leonardo interjected from across the derelict Kraang laboratory, as he dispatched a final Foot-Bot and charged the giant mutant hound. "_I_ for one, _would_ like to check my phone messages."

Rahzar sensed the Teen Turtle's tension: smelling blood, the skeletonized canine observed, "There's only two uh ya' tonight. Whadappened to the Nunchukudance Kid? And the scrawny purple one; he off polishing his _staff_?"

The question about Donatello gave both brothers split-second pause, just enough for Fishface to discharge a mechanized kick into Raph's plastron, blasting him shell-first through a stack of wooden pallets. The hotheaded ninja lay dazed on a bed of newly-chipped plywood.

"_Dammit_", woozed Raph to himself. Only because their AWOL nerd of a brother might have come to such a geeky place had he and Leo searched for Donatello here – as well as at the junkyard, and in the alleys behind local computer repair shops, and at the fancier junkyard – only to stumble upon two of the Foot Clan's slipperiest and strongest assassins who'd arrived first for their own, nefarious reasons.

Leo, irritated to a head, flung a final coil of mangled Foot-Bot from one katana to clash and snarl both of his blades into Rahzar's machete fingers.

Nodding to the scattered broken Bots, Leo taunted, "Why do you guys travel with these things, anyway, when they're so ineffectual? Karai's idea of a learning algorithm worked too well or something? Not that I'm complaining that Shredder's made another stupid choice, and ignored someone smarter than him."

"Let's just say that Master Shredder is making bigger plans these days", Rahzar menaced, defensively. Even twice-mutated, the beast that was once Chris Bradford, Foot Clan Golden Boy, held no less of a sense of loyalty to his twisted liege.

"_Shuddup_, Mutt", chided Fishface, "We have no more _business_ here. Let's blowwww."

Heaving a swag of alien tech over his shoulder, the bionic fish-man leaped unfazed through the ruddy shards of a second-story windowpane. Not before snapping his nightmare jaws at the two huffing Turtles, Rahzar followed Fishface out of the building and across the desolate New York City rooftops.

"What tha' _heck_ was all _that_?", a bruised and particularly pissed-off Rapheal groaned as Leo helped his scarlet-banded brother to his feet. "Sounds like Shred-Head's planning something we oughta' know about."

Ignoring Raphael's theorizing, Leo pulled out his T-phone to check his messages. The pixels of Donnie's panicky mass-text flared brightly against the gloom of the old lab: _Im safe home soon dont worry [SORRYSORRYSORRY]+-8!_

"It's Donnie! **_He's safe!_**"

"Did he say why he ditched us like a jerk and made us go looking for 'im?"

Leo only squinted in reply, and snicked the T-phone back into his belt. "Bottom line is: Donnie's safe and he's home. Which is where we need to go, too. We still don't know what happened and what a one-armed snowman had to do with it.

"Well, that sounds like Donatello. Always with the gibberish."

"Nah, Raph. That's Mikey."

"Oh yeah. Fishfreak musta' knocked my head harder than I thought."

"No, you've always been a bit slow", Leo flipped back, as brothers do.

"Huh. Not bad, Chief. Since you're thinking so clearly, can _you_ tell me what Dogbreath meant a moment ago?"

"No, Raph. But once we get back to the Lair – and once we've got Donnie back online – we'll figure it all out. I swear to you, as your Fearless Leader, that no obstacle shall – "

"Yeah, yeah, yeah: my head's hurting even more now. Let's just go home. Besides – Splinter's gonna rip Donnie a new one and I want a front row seat to that show with time to make popcorn."

The two brothers dissolved into the gloom and out into the night, red and blue slips of lethal grace against the waning gibbous moon. Within minutes they had shifted underground, speeding the rest of the short way home deep in silent thought about what would happen next.

* * *

_Sidebar: the "snowman" thing is a reference to Donnie's hurried insertion of ∞, the scientific symbol for infinity (in positive and negative directions)._


	7. Chapter 6

_Wow. This update took me frickin' forever, didn't it? Sorry. I shake my weedy fist at Real Life. It's all her fault. Isn't everything? Enough finger-pointing. I hope you likey…_

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Retribution**

_"THIS IS THE BEST! DAY! – I mean; it's had its ups and downs…"  
_Donatello, "_New Girl in Town_"

_._

**_"UG_**!" Donatello admonished himself_ – "why, __**WHY **__did I have to text __**EVERYONE**__?" _As futile as it was to post-mortem his actions, Donnie castigated himself again_._ How in _shell_ was he going to explain to his brothers and Sensei his entire day spent _incommunicado_ without going to a place that he really, _really_ was not emotionally ready to tour?

Even worse, while he worked the logic of what to tell his family, his mask was driving him nuts. During their lovemaking Donnie had blindfolded April with his headband; the strawberry scent of her hair had permeated the thick cloth. Now each inhalation tripped a thrumming live wire to his brain, the memories of that afternoon stirring his groin.

April wouldn't know it, of course, but she hadn't been the first to wake up post-sexcapades. The intensity of the NYC heat had roused Donatello to find April curled into a sweet ball of slumber. The Turtle's amber eyes flickering against the orange sunshine filtering from above, he'd lost himself counting the sprays of freckles beneath her translucent skin. He bathed in the fire of her sunlit auburn hair. Tenderly, oh-so tenderly, he brushed a ruby strand from her forehead. Drunk with endorphins, doped up on oxytocin, he marveled at the sweet shape of her face, the summer blush of her cheeks, and the stubborn peak of her nose.

At some point during their sleep April had shifted from lying across his torso to the Oriental rug that they'd rode to dizzying altitudes of sexstasy. April had ratcheted Donatello's pleasure from peak to peak, each one higher than the last. He was quite sure she'd taken full advantage of her psychic skillz to pace just how fast, how far, and how rough to work him with her lips; and her hips. When he insisted that he absolutely couldn't take any more – April had ignored him. He'd been convinced that, at her will, he would simultaneously explode and disintegrate.

When April alone was confident that Donnie was spent, the beaming teen had curled onto her Turtle's warm plastron. The last thing he could recall before falling catatonic was cradling a peaceful April O'Neil in his arms while he rocked them both lightly side-to-side on the back ridge of his shell.

Drowsily refocusing on April's sleeping form, Donnie now trailed his eyes over the pale crescent of her curved back, lingering on the dimple where her spine locked into her sacrum. From there, her toned haunches curved perilously downwards, her thighs the smooth, paired sentries of that deepest part of her that granted him sweetest oblivion. Simply put, her body devastated him.

Moved to maudlin, Donnie heard himself whisper: "Hey - Beautiful. I'm pretty sure I love you more than life. I'm just not sure how much of a life I can give you." A moan caught in his throat and the ninja-scientist rebuked himself;

"_What is __wrong __with me?! The best day of my life and I'm already overthinking it! Stupid. __Stupid__! She's here because she wants to be. __**She **__seduced __me__. Shut up, Donatello, __just__ shut __**up**__. Think about tomorrow, tomorrow. What does Sensei say? _

_"__**Don't make love to humans**_"_? _

**_Arg! _**_NO! "_**Be in the moment**_"! __**That's **__what Sensei says!_"

_Be in the moment_. Snapping back to his current situation as he raced homeward through the tunnels, Donnie reflected that if he'd only been in the freakin' moment, he wouldn't have texted everyone to say he was returning home! He would have just slunk back with the tiny hope of talking privately with Master Splinter before having to explain himself to his brothers, too. Or, the _genius_ move would have been to self-destruct his T-phone, blame his AWOL status on a damaged cell and…

And _what_? What could he possibly have been doing during the **seven hours** he wasn't in contact? Math? That hadn't happened since he was 11. The junkyard? Shopping for scrap would never take that long – he was too eager to haul his swag back to the Lair and tinker.

This was a rare occasion: Donatello was without answers.

Donnie's feet kept flying against the sewer floor. Too soon, the tunnel converged on the Lair. Its chrome turnstiles came into view, four crooked smiles goading the stressed-out teen. In that exact moment, Donnie's T-phone hiccupped the first bar of the TV theme tune to "_My Little Brony"_.

Praying that Michelangelo's message was a divine intervention to all his problems, he yanked his cell from his belt and read the text:

_hey D just texting to make sure you're not back yet cos i wanna be back before you to see you get in trouble the whole way Later bro! :]_

Donatello…snapped.

**"FRICKIN' ****_T-PHONE_****! **_Nyyyuuuu-UHHHHHRRR_!"

In a fit of anxiety-fueled rage, Donnie pile-drived his phone into the sewer's concrete floor; then explosively punctuated the phone's castigation with the end of his bo staff. The T-phone was solid but it had, quite literally, met its maker – who wielded a wooden stick like a boss. As if to underscore its bad luck, the phone's final resting place was a small, scummy puddle.

Panting from his meltdown, Donnie glared in evil satisfaction at the shattered cell. His narrowed eyes warmed from ice to amber as he realized the carnage he'd wrought. The T-phone was but an innocent bystander. It had suffered so.

"**DONATELLO**."

Time's passage went glacial as Donnie lifted his head to confirm that, indeed: Master Splinter stood before him.

Shame, fear, loss, and – _hmmm, this was new_ – Defiance: these were the emotions Splinter was pained to watch roil across his son's eyes. Even if Donatello had not smelled like he had nested in April O'Neil's underwear drawer, Splinter would have known that they had been - _Together_.

Splinter carefully considered his son. He had meditated on this conversation for hours; and yet he was still at a loss for how best to handle the complexity and severity of his son's neglect and absenteeism.

After a sufficiently and deliberately torturous pause, the teen's Father spoke:

"Donatello. You have returned to us. It is a relief to see you In One Piece."

Ever the genius, Donnie read the subtlety of Splinter's words: if he was in one piece, then has was now game to be taken apart. As if he'd swallowed his bo staff width-wise, the cowed youth wheezed,

"_Hai_, Sensei".

"So", Splinter continued, "You are not injured?"

Again, Donatello squeaked: "No, Sensei."

"You were gone A Long Time." It was not a question. Nonetheless, once again the young Turtle pressed out the rote reply: "_Hai_, Sensei".

"Donatello." The Rat trained his ochre eyes on his son so intensely that it appeared he was looking at the back of his shell. "For this entire day of your illicit absence: What do you think I have been thinking?"

_Oshell._

Sensei was ninja in all ways of the word: effortlessly, he could devastate body and mind. For Donnie's brothers, corporal punishment and chore duty were effective behavioural modifiers. Reverse psychology pitting Raphael against Leonardo also had correctional merits. But Splinter knew that, for Donatello, the harshest consequence, and hotline to remorse, was his own morality. Donnie visualized the equation in his mind:

_(([I.Q. x Insight] + Sense of Duty) x Empathy)Guilt = FeelingSoBadINeverWantToDoThisAgain_.

What did Donatello think his father had been thinking? When his son disappeared without word or trace for nearly a day? When the Kraang and The Foot Clan were relentlessly hunting them? And when, thus far, the most disobedient things Donatello had ever done were stripping Splinter's hair dryer for parts, and ordering pricey boutique coffee beans online?

The permutations of that answer had tormented Donnie from the time he woke up to this moment; and would clearly continue to punish him as Sensei turned the psychological screws. Plus, Splinter had never quite forgotten about the hair dryer.

"I…I think that you must have been angry. Furious, even. And – and worried. So very, very worried..." Donnie's voice trailed off in a whisper. He started to break down as the full-force of his insight kicked in. The words came tumbling out:

"Sensei, I'm so, SO Sorry. As much as I try, I can't imagine what I put you and my brothers through when I didn't show up for training; when I didn't call you…" Donnie swallowed "When I didn't come home…"

Donatello glanced around. "W-where are the others? Mikey texted that they were topside?"

"Your brothers? They went searching for you." Splinter's voice was ice laced with knives. "At risk of exposing and endangering themselves, they went aboveground when they feared you were in need of rescue."

Donnie hung his head, his bo staff sagging in his arm.

"Yee-ess, my son. I _am_ furious that, for your own _convenience_, you put your brothers lives in danger _needlessly_. And you are correct that I was worried **_beyond ken_** at your unexplained, prolonged, and _highly_ uncharacteristic disappearance. And I remain worried. But, now: for different reasons."

Donatello felt like he was dropping through the concrete floor.

"My son: where have you been?"

The tension was intolerable. Donnie didn't trust himself to speak.

Splinter stood, calmly, as the silence spaghettified into the tunnel's dark depths.

Time went glacial again, even as it sped up. While the main program in Donnie's brain iteratively queried responses to Splinter, a short term memory subroutine ran in parallel:

Shyly – _April? H-how long have you thought about doing…This? With…me?  
_Grinning – _Doing what, Donnie? …Oh – you mean, playing your physique like a violin? Pretty much, like, forever.  
_Eye ridges raised – _April, that's temporally implausible.  
_Patiently – _Well, it felt like forever, waiting to do it_.  
Wink – _OK, that I accept. _Saucy – _Erm, what did you do to spend the time?  
Wouldn't YOU like to know?  
_Chuckle – _Well, yes, that's why I'm asking.  
_Slyly - _I daydreamed...  
_Playing along –_ Ah. Just…daydreamed?  
_Wicked glint – _um…and played __me__ like a violin_.  
Silent, eyes wide: *  
Casually – _Every night. Several times a night. Of the every night that I did the thing I did, several times…_

_"Ah-HURM."_ Splinter cleared his throat.

Donatello's mind-math and recall both ground to a halt. How could facing Sensei terrify him more than facing The Shredder?

"April. I was with April", he blurted.

"Ah-_hurm_" came Splinter's only reply.

"She – I – we – It – " The words hung over Donatello like noose.

"I see", surmised the Rat.

Shocked from his verbal fumbling, Donnie quizzed, "You do?"

Splinter measured his son. The time for torture was past. At least for now. Now, it was time for compassion. This conversation with his young adult son would have to be a delicate dance…

"Yes. You and April O'Neil had sex."

Both of them jumped as Donnie's bo staff fell from his hand to toll against the concrete ground.

"N-nno! That's the thing! We didn't! Well, we did a lot, and one could make the case that we certainly didn't hold much back, but…"

Aware that his self-edit was in major malfunction, Donnie stopped making words.

While Splinter knew better than to predict how this discussion would unfold, he had a short-list of vital points that he needed to raise with his son:

1) _Safety_ – no nookie while wearing weapons; place them on the bedside table for easy access.  
2) _Honour_ – first and foremost consider one's partner's emotions; the rest will follow appropriately.  
3) _Responsibility_ – be authentic to one's self; to do otherwise disrespects one's bedfellow.  
4) _Spirit_ – be passionate and creative; no one likes a bore (unless that is their kink: then it is being creative).  
5) _Discretion_ – what has been heard cannot be unheard; and the more one reveals the lower one sinks.  
6) _Intelligence_ – always lock the door; and wash hands before and after.

"Donatello. Make no mistake that you will make amends for your disappearance today because it was **unacceptable**. But also understand that the sacred things that happened – that I suspect are the _sole reason_ of your absence, _hmmm_? – I was sure that you and your brothers would never be blessed enough to struggle with. These are complex feelings that tap into one's sense of self and self-worth. It is easy to lose perspective with such strong emotions. So, it is wise to deal with them in healthy ways – not bottle them up as you, in particular, my introspective son, might be tempted to do.

If you and April feel this strongly for each other, then this is only good news to be celebrated. But quietly; with no details that might make everyone feel very awkward. These natural process are so common as to be mundane – but without fail they feel exceptional when they happen to you. Particularly because of the joy I knew, and then lost, with my beloved _Tang Shen_, I support you both. But I would be no example of a Father if I did not emphasize, again, the need to follow _The Six Rules_ for both your sakes, and the sake of our family. And if you ever need a watchword to guide your sexual decision making, then look no farther than your own martial arts training.

"Be the last one to start a fight, and the first one to end it"?, Donnie offered.

"No. That applies to marriage. What I mean, my son, is: _Respect_."

The sound of many pounding footfalls interrupted the Father-Son convo:

"**DONNIE**! You DID get here first, Bro! Aw, _man_, why didn't you listen to my text?!", Michelangelo leaped onto Donnie's shell and stuck a spit-slicked finger in his ear-hole. Warily, Raphael and Leonardo skidded to a halt and paused a few feet away from Master Splinter, feeling the tension crackling off his fur.

"Oh, hey, Sensei! So, it's totally on!? How many of my chores do I get to skip for the next week? Donnie, I bet you wish you could open a Kraang portal and go back in time to when you didn't get in trouble!"

Donnie knew better but he couldn't help himself: "Mikey, that's not how the Kraang portals work! They bend space, not time, and besides why would I want to go to a Kraang dimension when…

_"__**ENOUGH!**__"_ Emotionally exhausted yet aware that he must put on the appropriate show to maintain family order, Splinter spoke.

"**Donatello**. In penance for: leaving Without Permission; making your family fear Excessively that you had come to harm; putting your brothers Lives at risk while they searched for you; and Withholding information about where you have been and what you have been doing – You will assume ALL your brothers chores for an entire Month; and every day, _You Will Teach Michelangelo Physics_.

Mikey beamed.

"Oh, snap", muttered Raph.

Splinter shot him a fearsome look. "Now, I want to hear nothing more from ANY of you! Quiet time in each of your rooms, alone, while I meditate to regain at least some of my sanity. Leonardo, I will expect a full report from you later about this evening's patrol."

"_Hai_, Sensei", Leo returned seriously.

Each brother was positively dying to get the scoop on Donnie but they all knew better than to ignore their Father's commands when he was in such a state. Silently exchanging mocking glances and taunting gestures at Donatello, the teens slipped into their bedrooms to meditate on how badly their brother had screwed himself over.


	8. Chapter 7

*_Thanks_* for the recent outpouring of support, encouragement and enthusiasm for this fic! Your very kind reviews truly inspire and fuel my TMNT_ _oeuvres__ :)

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Escapisms**

"_Ice Cream Kitty, give me a cheesicle! Come on! …Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty…!_"  
Michelangelo, "Pizza Face"

.

After Splinter's emotionally intense encounter with Donatello, the Rat had cultivated the headache of all headaches. Once his sons had retreated to their respective bedrooms, their Sensei slouched - gracefully, in ninja way - to the Lair's kitchen for some calm and comfort.

Pressing thumb and forefinger between his sable brows, Splinter didn't notice Michelangelo's Kinekt Force game jutting over the edge of the vast kitchen table. The heavy crimson fabric of his robe's sleeve caught the lightweight frame, tipping it over.

Yellow and red plastic discs clattered sharply across the table's surface. Splinter pressed his ears flat against his head to block out the game's death rattle.

Wearily, the Rat pulled the freezer open and reached in for an ice pack; and a cheesesicle. Both objects felt deliciously cool in his hand. He anticipated the much-needed relief of pressing the cold pack onto his throbbing temples, and the hard cheese into his keen incisors.

Splinter's discussion with Donatello about his sextra-curricular activities with April O'Neil had offered little relief; rather, The Talk had only stressed Splinter more. He was now second-guessing his words and actions: Had he been sufficiently strict? Had he been sufficiently understanding? Should he have organized The Six Rules of good sexual etiquette into a catchy mnemonic?

It was a lonely life the Ninja Master led for many reasons, chief among them: Single Parenting.

Lost in thought, Splinter began to swing the freezer door shut until he heard an inquisitive:

"_MrrrrooooOWWW?_"

Quickly, Splinter re-opened the freezer door, releasing a poof of cold air into the room. He spoke back into the frigid space:

"**_Ah!_** _Ice Cream Kitty_. **_Yes_**, it is true that this evening I am feeling - dis_tressed_."

"MrrrrooooOWWW?"

"Of _course_: how did you know that, this time, my issue is not with Raphael? Tonight it is _Donatello_ who troubles me."

In the gloom, Ice Cream Kitty tilted her strawberry-flavoured head to look sidelong at Splinter:

"MrrrrooooOWWW?"

"You know that I cannot take you out of the freezer. No - do not look at me in that way... You belong in the freezer. _That is a good cat_. Plus, Michelangelo would have a fit if I removed you, like last time…"

Condensation continued to pour from the icebox onto Splinter's nose.

Ice Cream Kitty held the Rat's gaze.

"MrrrrooooOWWW?"

The mutant frozen-dairy feline batted a chocolate-vanilla paw at the freezer threshold, and tilted her head to the opposite side.

"_MrrrrooooOWWW?_"

"**Alright!** But only for a _short_ _time_. And you must _promise_ to stay in your _ice box_. Can you do this for me?"

The cat's black eyes never wavered.

Without waiting for a formal reply, Splinter quickly retrieved the portable cooler from the top of the refrigerator. Silently, he unlatched the lid of the insulated plastic box and extended it towards the freezer. Ice Cream Kitty slumped her Neapolitan body inside the cold container.

"Not a _word_ to Michelangelo. Is this understood?"

The cool cat only blinked at Splinter.

"MrrrrooooOWWW?"

"Alright: I accept your oath."

Splinter set the mini-cooler down on the table, and lowered himself into the chair opposite it. He pressed the ice pack against his forehead for a few moments. He exchanged the ice for the cheddar hunk, which he nibbled quietly; then distractedly put back down.

The pieces of the Kinekt Force game lay scattered in front of him. Its disorder compounded the father's emotional tumult. Splinter extended a slender hand to sweep the game pieces towards himself. With graceful fingers, he idly piled red on top of red, yellow on top of yellow, making two columns of discs.

"MrrrrooooOWWW?"

Splinter set the game's blue honeycomb frame upright.

"No, that is not quite what troubles me, my Arctic Kitten. As a _Sensei_, I wish for my sons to strive - and to _fail_ \- so that they may learn _deeply_ about themselves and the world around them. Even as the world rejects our kind."

_Plink!_ Splinter absently slotted a red disc into a column.

The cat nuzzled at an adjacent column with her snout.

_Plunk!_ On her behalf, Splinter dropped a yellow piece into position.

Ice Cream Kitty twitched an ear, flicking a strawberry-vanilla blob onto the tabletop.

"Yes, that is a fair point. Sometimes even _fear_ of rejection alters our thoughts – and thus our behaviours – into something they need not be; into something that is, truly, _not helpful_. That is, instead: _counter-productive_."

_Plink!_ Splinter responded to Ice Cream Kitty's move with a second red piece of his own.

Ice Cream Kitty purred. Splinter often took this strategy when playing Kinekt Force. Already, it was clear to her that she was going to take him down.

Oblivious to her cunning, Splinter demurred, "I agree, my Pink Snowshoe: my sons _must_ be allowed to discover these lessons _for themselves_. Otherwise, how can they ever know what they truly need? As opposed to what they think they need; or what they think that they think that they should need!?"

Ice Cream Kitty batted her paw at another spot on the blue frame.

_Plink!_ Splinter dropped a yellow disc into the appropriate position.

"It is a fine balance. How can my sons know what they need if they do not attempt to get what they want? How can they learn to navigate the often deceptive line between desire and sustenance? Both fuel, even as they consume. Without desire, how can one endure? Without hope, how can one sustain oneself? But then, there are times when desire becomes treacherous, and a danger to survival…

"_MrrrrooooOWWW?_"

"Yes, exactly: like the time that Raphael was so overheated after training that he almost ate you. It was good that Michelangelo was there to stop him."

At the thought of Mikey, Splinter looked around the kitchen nervously, pausing to listen for his approach. Silence. At his order, his sons were still ensconced in their respective rooms.

_Kachunk!_ Splinter slotted another red piece into play, unwittingly building the staircase that Ice Cream Kitty would climb to victory.

"Desire impels because it cuts. It is this discomfort that makes present circumstances too terrible to endure, and future possibilities too painful _not_ to pursue. But: as a Father…? As a _Father_, I want to spare my sons pain; even as I know they must experience it to survive and grow."

Ice Cream Kitty almost felt bad for her rival: the Rat was clearly distracted and unfocused. Her win would be ill-gotten. Still, life in the freezer was dull, and she would savour the memory her triumph on many a cold night to come. With her dripping tail, she gestured to another spot on the grid.

"MrrrrooooOWWW?"

_Plunk!_ Splinter obliged her request with another yellow piece.

"Fear keeps us from reaching out; but when we look plainly on what we have to lose, this loss is often trivial, and reparable, compared to what we might gain if we follow our desire. In _fear_, we run **_from_**. With _desire_, we run **toward**."

_Kachink!_ Splinter deposited a fourth red disc, but not in a row with his others.

Ice Cream Kitty began to molt vanilla-strawberry-chocolate ice cream drops in anticipation of his defeat. Splinter noticed her shaking and began to fret.

"Is something the matter, my Little Triple-Threat? Are you getting too warm? Is it time to put you back in your home? We can continue this game at a later time…"

Just as Ice Cream Kitty began to hiss at the idea of going back in the freezer before claiming her win – and Splinter began to rise from his seat to pick her up – Michelangelo slipped into the kitchen.

The orange-banded Turtle was meant to be in his room but all he could think of was how terrible he felt for Donatello – and how excited he was that Donnie was gonna teach him Physics! Mikey had always wanted to know how to read minds.

With his brothers holed up for the night, Mikey had assumed that Sensei would be meditating in the dojo for at least the next few hours. It was a perfect time to visit Leatherhead! And to get in some quality Kinekt Force time with his best friend. He'd ducked into the kitchen to pick up the game on his way out of the Lair. Little did he know the shocking scene that would greet him…

"**_SENSEI!_**"

At the sound of Mikey's gasp, Splinter reeled around. Ice Cream Kitty began to mewl.

Heedless of any power dynamic or consequence, Mikey pressed on:

"Sensei, **_You Promised_**! **YOU PROMISED**! You know how mushy she got that one time; we almost lost her! I just can't take that again." Mikey swept around the table to gather the portable cooler in his arms and clasp it protectively against his plastron.

"Now, Michelangelo…I was just about to put her back in when you entered. She is fine: **Fine**. See?"

Mikey examined the mutant cat through narrowed clear blue eyes. Suspiciously, he spoke:

"I can't read minds, Sensei – I have to wait for Donnie to teach me that tomorrow – but she looks pretty soft to me."

To the cat Mikey whispered, "I'm sorry Ice Cream Kitty. I have to put you away now." Passive-aggressively, he concluded with: "Sensei knows it's for the best."

"**_MrrrrooooOWWW?_**" Black eyes wide, Ice Cream Kitty's brain skitzed: _What about the **game**!? **This** was not the **plan**!_ **_THIS! WAS! NOT! THE! PLAN!_**

Mikey pulled the freezer door open and thrust the now-howling cat inside, mini-cooler and all.

Quickly closing the freezer door, he turned back to Master Splinter. "Sensei, I know you've been under a lot of pressure today; but you gotta find another way to relax. Ice Cream Kitty can't take this kind of trauma. There're lots of online communities where you can meet nice people who understand what you're going through –

Mikey took in the interrupted Kinect Force game

– and that you can game with –

…who aren't gonna melt."

Splinter sighed. His son was right. He needed to reach out to other parents, even if only in a virtual milieu. Quickly, he changed the topic.

"Michelangelo, you do realize that Donatello will not be teaching you Psychic abilities? He will be teaching you _Physics_: the study of the universe and its _physical_ properties and laws."

Mikey thought about this for a moment, then queried, "Like in _Space Heroes_?"

"No. Not exactly. But, for your sake: Yes."

"Oooohhhh. Then thaz' cool: I'll be able to understand the _reason_ that I'll be able to _read minds_."

"No. There will be no mind reading."

"But, ya gotta admit, I'm pretty good at knowing what people are thinking; sometimes even before they are."

Splinter sighed. "Yes, Michelangelo, you are: indeed, it is because of your _empathy_ that I conspired for you to spend time, one-on-one, with Donatello each day for the foreseeable weeks. I suspect that he is in need of someone to speak with who will not judge him. He has even more on his mind than usual these days."

"With April, huh?"

"Yes. With April."

"Sensei. It's gonna be OK, you know. No matter what happens: it's gonna be OK."

Splinter smiled sadly at Michelangelo's optimism. Inwardly, Mikey rolled his eyes at Splinter's skepticism.

Again, Splinter changed tack. Drawing up to his full height, he stated more than asked: "Michelangelo, you have not explained what you are doing out of your bedroom."

Mikey studied his feet as he shuffled them. "Um, yeah. About that. Uh, do you want me to tell you the truth, or something that sounds like the truth that'll be less stressful for you?"

Splinter held himself still as he considered his son's question.

"You know, my son: I think that I will imagine that I have been meditating in the dojo this entire time. If you need me before tomorrow morning, then beneath the great tree is where I will be found."

"And no more Kitty?"

Splinter paused.

"And no more Kitty."

"_Hai_, Sensei. …I bet you wish you could read our minds sometimes….

Splinter imagined the horror.

…but other times, I bet you're glad you can't."

"You cannot imagine how correct you are about that, Michelangelo. Now, be sure to get some rest. Tomorrow will no doubt be busy for us all."

"_Hai_, Sensei. See you tomorrow. I bet I'll be able to tell you what you want to eat for breakfast. With my awesome _mind powers_…"

Splinter turned and slunk from the kitchen. Mikey waited for him to disappear into the opposite part of the Lair before he gathered up the Kinect Force pieces and frame, and slid them into the box he retrieved from the cupboard.

After checking that his _nunchaku_ were in place, Mikey scooped up the game, then quietly moseyed through the turnstiles and out into the sewer tunnels for the night. He wondered if Leatherhead could also read minds, and knew that Mikey was on his way for a visit.

.

* * *

**A special thanks to the die-hard FanFiction/StealthyStories TMNT community; especially _Lexifer666_ and _Novus Ordo Seclorum_ for the rare and most excellent RL chat. We all knew we would be there, not in the least because of our awesome mind powers.**


	9. Chapter 8

_Wow – I thought I'd been lost in Dimension X for _years_, but it turns out it was_ only three months! _Sorry for the über-slow update. Blame the Kraang, dropping interdimensional portals willy-nilly for good folks to stumble into. Please read this next chapter while I pick _Kraangthratrogon _dander off my jeggings…_

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Obfuscation**

_"__Wait, you still think you have a shot with her?"  
_Raphael, "Operation: Break Out"

.

It took only a couple of soft raps before Leo's bedroom door slid open enough for Raph to ghost inside.

The blue-banded leader was unsurprised by Raphael's disobedience; or his pleasure at Donatello's castigation. Despite Master Splinter's order that each of his teen sons was banished to his respective room that night, Leonardo expected Raph's visit. The hotheaded Ninja Turtle was fuelled by rebellion and _schadenfreude_ as much as by oxygen and pizza.

Leo quietly closed his door as Raphael sank into the beanbag chair across from the bed. Sitting cross-legged on the mattress, Leo faced his brother. He knew that Raph would quickly make his point.

Whispering in way that sounded to Leo like shouting, Raph gloated: "Did you see the LOOK on Don's face?! _Priceless!_ Can he please pull this kinda crap _every day_!? It feels like Christmas morning, with a _double_ helping of Foot Creeps to beat on! _Thank you, Santa_!"

Leo patiently registered his brother's shit-eating grin. Donnie rarely misbehaved. He even considered acting-out beneath him. Raph was going to milk his scientist-brother's rare shaming for all it was worth.

Raph's gleeful shout-whispering continued: "_What do you think he was doing_?! Boosting more government-grade junk? Locked in the old Public Records Library again? Attending a _Nerds Anonymous_ meeting? ..."

Without really thinking about it, Leo interjected with, "…Following April around?"

For some reason, that shut them both up.

"Well, Chief, if you want a right answer, ya gotta ask the right person."

Tight-lipped, the brothers decisively nodded at each other. Silently, Leo's door slid open again. Both ninja ghosted out into the Lair's corridors and towards Donatello's bedroom.

* * *

_Worst_. _Night_. _Ever_.

Donnie would have been post mortem'ing his conversation with Sensei were it not for his dead T-phone, its shattered case a perfect artefact of where his bo had punctured the plastic and glass.

Now how would April reach him? How would Don reach her? After not hearing from her all evening, he assumed she must have texted him in the past hour or so; but because of his tantrum in the tunnel, he couldn't know or reply.

_Smart Don. Real smart. Mister Smoothie._

Confined to his bedroom, he couldn't use his resources in the lab to fix the sorry cell. Making do, Donnie rummaged through a smaller toolkit for screwdrivers and pliers so that he could at least assess the damage done, and maybe MacGyver a repair.

Just as he was unscrewing the mangled cover, he heard a light tapping at his door.

"Nevermore", Donnie croaked mirthlessly. Dammit, he knew what was coming. His heart tripped and his palms moistened.

His door swung open on silent hinges. Raph's Cheshire Cat grin seemed to float ahead of him into Donatello's room, followed by Leonardo, who was wearing a slightly apologetic expression.

Only when the door had closed did anyone speak.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Whaddya _think_, Nerdinator?"

"I think getting into trouble with Splinter is over-rated."

"Yeah, well, Egghead, you _would_ fail to appreciate the finer things in life. Why not clear your conscience by spilling where ya been all day? You owe Leo and me an explanation, since we were the ones sticking our necks out topside to find you. Not that I mind a fight with Foot Clan Hench-things, but before we left I almost had Leo's _Robo-X_ high-score beat."

"Oh, no you just didn't, Raph", mumbled Leo.

Don saw a tiny escape hatch: "Look, I'll tell you where I was, but first, what's this about The Foot?"

Leo stood a little taller:

"While Raph and I were out looking for you in one of Biffy Stockgirl's old laboratories, we ran into Fishface and Dogp- erm, _Rahzar_, taking a bunch of stuff – we're not sure what – back to The Shredder."

Raph interjected. "_Hong Kong Phooey_ was bragging about A Big Plan and Fishfart told him to shut it. Suspicious, right?"

Taking back the mike, Leo finished the story. "So Raph and I think The Foot are learning some evil new dance steps."

Raph made a face. "Don't, Leo. Just don't."

Pressing a fingertip to his chin, Donatello mused on the new intel. "It definitely sounds suspect. Boxer Stickman had twenty times more dangerous equipment, including Kraang Tech, in his possession than I've yet to study. Even The Foot's sophomoric knowledge of chemistry almost landed us all in the Soup when they tried to dump acid down the sewers. We've gotta follow this up. Does Splinter know?"

"No", replied Leo, "but he's asked for a briefing later tonight. I'll put him in the loop. If our home's at stake again, then at the very least he should be made aware of possible risks."

Now being in close quarters with Donatello, Raph's nose picked up a scent that was oddly, and disconcertingly, familiar. He made another face and snarked, "If we go back to Bilbo Sockhop's lab, maybe Don should stay behind. If he gets any mutagen on 'im, he might sprout red hair or worse. Maybe we should call the mutation "Dope-ril".

A propos of nothing, Michelangelo popped his head into Donnie's room:

"Raph, that's a totally _terrible_ name." Mikey blinked his baby blues in hard thought. "'_Apriltello_' is much, much better".

Before Raphael could thump it, Mikey's orange-banded head disappeared back through Don's door. The youngest Turtle ghosted away in his own direction for the night.

"Sooooooo", Leo steepled his fingers together, subconsciously mimicking Don's own nervous gesture. "Where did you say you were today, Donnie?"

* * *

"….and so that's how I tripped and fell on top of April on my way back from escaping the Top Secret Government Underground Public Records Junkyard where I was accidentally locked in for eight hours with no cell reception. Then I had to help her put a bunch of her spilled stuff back into her knapsack. That's totally what you must be smelling."

As Raph opened his mouth to call "_bullshit!_" a fearful yowling pierced the Lair. All three brothers stopped cold, staring at each other. They heard what sounded like Michelangelo whining, followed by Master Splinter's deep inflections. Then the Lair fell silent again.

"Mikey must be getting served by Splinter. Why'd he even sneak out of his room anyway, if it wasn't to come in here with us?" Raphael critiqued.

"Maybe he doesn't find your company as sweet as I do, Raph", Donnie deadpanned.

Raph squinted an eye at his defensive brother, and spoke his interrupted thought.

"I've seen how you and April have been looking at each other lately. Not just you mooning over her – her mooning over you, too. I'd press you for more info but I'm pretty sure you'd tell me stuff I can't un-hear."

Raph was really getting into it now.

"I don't even know how to process what I think's goin' on. But bro-to-bro, I can tell you that, for a scientist, your reasoning can be pretty clouded when you want it to be. April's cool. She's like a sister to us. A _sister_. You think you've got what it takes to make it last beyond a fling? An experimental _phase_? You better not blow it for the rest of us. April means somethin' special to you, sure, but she's part of _our_ family. You don't get to push her away from the rest of us, Shell-case, when you drop the ball or she drops you."

Stupified by what for Raphael was an emotional tsunami, Leo blurted, "Who _are_ you and what did you do with Raphael?"

"Shaddup, Fearless", came Raphael's retort.

"Ah, me and my big mouth. There he is, back again", Leo concluded.

"When did you start taking over from Mikey as the _Soul Guru_, Raph?", Don inserted. "If I look under your mattress, next to all the porn am I going to find some crystals, a Daily Blessings journal and a dog-eared copy of _The Secret_? You know, I thought you'd turned a corner as far as April and me were concerned. I thought you had my back."

"Yeah, well, that was 'cos I thought there wasn't a hope in Shell it was gonna happen!"

Don and Raph stared each other down as the deeper meaning of Raphael's words sunk in.

"So lemme get this straight. You _humoured me_ when you thought I was _hopeless_. And now when it seems that I'm not, you want me to fail?"

Raph chewed on Don's words for a moment.

"Yup", he asserted.

"Dick", Don flipped back without missing a beat.

"Arseh-"

"OH_WHOAWHOAWHOA_!" Leo interjected in Raph's Shout-Whisper tone. The he hissed, "Stop it, both of you. None of this helps anyone or improves anything.

Don, you were a jerk to leave everyone in the dark All Day. But if what I also smell is true then: _EWE_ and _YAY YOU_ in equal measures. Also, like Splinter says, the Universe has ways of speaking to us if we only listen –

"_Now_ who's got a copy of _The Secret_ under his mattress?", muttered Raph.

Leo made a mental note to use up all the hot water next time Raph wanted a shower, and continued,

– _My point is_ that we only know that the Foot is up to something _because_ we were out looking for Donnie. This is an opportunity to stop what might be a very dangerous situation before it even gains momentum. We need to do more recon. We need to talk with Splinter."

Raph ground his teeth. "You talk with Splinter. I'm gonna go find some of the reading material under my mattress and call it a night."

"Dear _Daily Blessings Journal_", Donnie started with a falsetto voice meant to mimic Raph, "I shared my feelings today _and_ I used a _multisyllabic word_. Wow, it all just feels so new, so _great_! I'm so thankful for words. Oh, and for Wet Wipes. And for _YOU_, _Daily Blessings Journal_!"

Leo chimed in with, "Raph, I think one of your crystals is stuck up your butt. I think your butt chakra's out of alignment".

"You know Leo, you're right. I should do something about that." Smoothly, Raph turned to leave the room and as he did so he let rip the biggest, loudest fart he could muster. Then, silently, Raphael shut the door being him, smirking at the thought of the noxious vapours permeating Donnie's bedroom and his brothers' nasal cavities. Finally, he felt at peace with the Universe.

* * *

Raphael's powerful expulsion echoed through the Lair like a clarion call to action. As he vaulted the turnstile and exited the Lair, Mikey nodded his respect and admiration. Conversely, Master Splinter retreated to meditate behind the screens of his own bedroom, where his sensitive nose would be distracted by smoldering eucalyptus and myrrh.

* * *

_Thanks to all for reading! - and reviewing?! I'll do my best to avoid Kraang portals from here on in, and update more often in the next coming weeks and months :)_


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – Stratagems**

"Never fight the armor, fight the man inside"  
Splinter, _I Think His Name is Baxter Stockman_

.

Once again the few sinews that stretched along Rahzar's skeletal muzzle creased in revulsion. As if the recoil of his tar lips wasn't clue enough, the hellhound rumbled his displeasure in sand-grit baritones that reverberated across The Shredder's throne room. Each time Fishface mentioned the name _Leonardo_, Karai's body involuntarily responded with arousal. The thick tang of the teen kunoichi's scent harangued Rahzar's acute sense of smell like a hot itchy sneeze unfulfilled. It was repugnant.

Worse than suffering acrid pubescent sex-plumes, Rahzar didn't wanna know that The Boss' Daughter had the hots for a reptile freak. Mutated beyond recognition of having been human, Rahzar still exempted himself from the growing number of hybrids spawned by Kraang sludge. The hound's denial was perhaps his last act of defiance at having been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Twice.

Karai was still blathering on about catching the green scum that made Rahzar's life miserable. He'd tried time and again to bag those turtle buggers and prove his worth to Master Shredder. He didn't like taking directions from a child and he didn't like failing. _And would Fishface stop mentioning Leonardo's name?_ It was like the slimy purple piscid was doing it on purpose: "_Leonardo_", and **poof!**, stinkin' girl-pheromones filled the air and plugged his mucous membranes.

Fishface glanced sidelong at his canid companion: he could positively giggle from the fun he was having, making Rahzar writhe so conspicuously. The Foot Clan's henchfish pressed on:

"Baht, Karraaiii", he deadpanned, "Capturing any of the Turtles, especially the strong and handsome blue one, _Leonardo_, has proven so difficult to daaate. What is it about this new plan that has you con-veenced of its success?"

Karai stiffened imperceptibly as she locked eyes with the robo-fish. Immediately, he lowered his gaze; not in deference, but to hide his amusement at the clichéd indignation of youth.

As light as a wisp of silk before it strangled, Karai queried "Xever, you're not questioning me, are you?"

"No, Mistress", Fishface cooed, "I only observe that I am too simple to construct a plan cunning enough to defeat the Turtles; especially their bold and strapping leader, _Leonardo_; and his objectionable sensei, _Hamato Yoshi_."

Karai cocked an eyebrow. Despite his obvious impertinence, she enjoyed toying with Fishface. Unlike the company of most Foot Clan staff, his conniving kept her from dying of boredom.

"Of course you are simple; and lowly, and slimy." Hands on cocked hips, she added, "You are also very loud when you walk – can't you do something about the hydraulics in those metal legs of yours? Anyway, your lack of vision and competence is why **I** ask the questions here. And the only thing that I care to know from you is: _Did you place the bait_?"

"Yes, Mistress", finessed Fishface, his subgingival venom glands a-tingle as he imagined paralyzing Karai with a swift snick of his tusk-like fangs. "The Turtles believe that the Foot Clan is hatching a new master-plan of chaos and destruction to the city of New York."

Karai narrowed her eyes in pleasure. "Indeed, we are", she smirked. "Then the target is locked. The trap is set! They will come out of hiding to save the day with their pitiable delusions of nobility and justice. And we will be waiting for the moment when they pop their heads out of their shells."

With his characteristic soft touch, Rahzar menaced, "Why not just kill Donatello flat-out, beat the shit out of him?"

Karai sighed and inspected a fingernail. At least this beat a lecture from Dad. Being thrown off balance by April O'Neil, a pathetic pretend-kunoichi and friend of the Turtles, still smarted hotly. At his convenience, The Shredder enjoyed reminding Karai of this rookie-like failure to capture amateur prey. He had also made it clear that he wanted Donatello dead. She had only days to make amends by re-establishing her cred before her Father's return from Foot Clan HQ in Tokyo.

"**_Because_**, Bradford (_for using Rahzar's human name was an easy way to play his ravaged ego_), it's overly difficult – and thus stupid (_and here Karai hesitated to emphasize her point_) – to directly strike at the Turtles. To destroy these ninja wannabes and their sad sack of a sensei, time and again, the Foot has relied on brute force. Typical _men_", Karai spat the words, "Desperate to prove their strength, even if it means bloodying their heads as they bang them against a wall. Women know much better the value of an indirect attack", Karai paused to reflect on toxic girlfriends of schooldays past, "Particularly as most men so rarely expect one."

Fishface took note. Deception and duplicity were the grammar of his battle language.

Rahzar was still rolling the name "Bradford" around in his brain. He'd give anything to be human again. The odds were so crushingly low that without being conscious of it, he pretended to prefer his mutated state

Karai continued, warming into her exposition from atop her Father's dais: "Donatello's death will be guaranteed with the poison. The antidote can't be synthesized and even if it could, Donatello would be the only one to do it and he will be incapable – delusion and paralysis are almost immediate. This plan almost worked with Raphael. We will learn from our mistakes and attempt again, this time with a toxin less – _whimsical_.

"_Why_ don't we just kill 'em _all_?", Rahzar injected irritably.

"Well, we could", Karai returned, "but Shredder wants Hamato Yoshi to suffer for his many years of egregious offenses to the Foot Clan. He wants the Turtles' demise to be slow and agonizing. You know: typical Father stuff. Now unless you have something else burning a hole in your forebrain, let's get back to the plan.

We just need to bring the Turtles out of their Lair, even if only to the rooftops where they feel concealed, secure and in control. In this way, they will never be more exposed and vulnerable", Karai gloated. "We only need one good shot for this plan to work; perhaps a slight distraction to allow the blowing dart to find its mark. I can get the Turtles talking…"

"Ah, yes, _Leonardo_ does like his _heroic banter_", chided Fishface. "One would theenk he prefers chit-chat to fighting. Perhaps, deep down, he knows that his skills are no match for our Mistress Karai's. Even so, Leonardo's taught and chiseled physique is enviable – if I was to care about such theengs."

Karai subtly arched an eyebrow. _What was up with Xever lately? Everything was "Leonardo this, and Leonardo that._ What was that weird thing he'd said the other day? Oh, yeah: "_The blue goes so well with his skin tone"._ Good grief. She thought the former street-urchin-come-sea-urchin despised the blue Turtle. But all he seemed to say was how great Leo was, how powerful, how clever, how attractive...

Suddenly, fighting to keep the shock from her face, Karai twigged: _Fishface was crushing on Leonardo!_ **_HA!_** She'd never have thought it possible. Maybe the mutagen altered his gender preferences as well as his form? Well, this was _rich_. And, sort of sweet, in a totally perverted way. At least she wouldn't have to worry about her competition. She was pretty sure that robotic-fish-men weren't Leo's thing. Although if they were, then Fishface would be quite a "catch".

_Larf_, she congratulated herself on the terrible pun.

She'd have fun making the most of her secret knowledge of Fishface's eccentric vulnerability. Regardless, she couldn't fault him for his taste in men.

Rahzar was loathe to release more teen sex spores into the breeze but he had to ask: "If Leonardo's so fantastic, why don't we take _him_ out instead of the lilac geek with the cane? Won't the team fall apart without its fancy blue leader?"

Fishface rolled his eyes at Rahzar's opacity, but Karai happily recited the plan's rationale like she was rehearsing a eulogy:

"Each of the Turtles plays his unique role, it's true. Leonardo is the leader – but replaceable. Raphael is the brute force – nothing special there. Michelangelo is, well – no one really knows; Splinter is the backbone of the family but suffers a parent's liability – loving a child. But _Donatello_: he is the reason this sick little family logistically survives and thrives, cracks Foot and Kraang technologies, and adapts to everything we have thrown at him (yes, except maybe very heavy objects, Rahzar).

In truth, the sequence of familial destruction might begin with Splinter, but he is too difficult to reach. Instead, my Father's brilliantly demonic rationale is that once Donatello is ended, Splinter will crumble, and the rest of the brothers will follow suit.

"Like shootin' fish in a barrel", snarled Rahzar, looking sidelong at Xever who remained pokerfaced.

"Indeed", confirmed Karai mischievously, catching the insult implied to Fishface. "Now we have to talk about the next steps of executing the plan. We have a few more breadcrumbs to scatter and little time to waste…"

* * *

A warm breeze swept through April O'Neil's bedroom, carrying sensual scents of other kinds: Asian spices, beer hops, jasmine blossoms; paired with hot, pungent off-gassing tarmac and sour garbage. In other words, it smelled like a typical NYC hot summer night.

After Michelangelo's frenetic visit, April had finally fallen asleep. Her slumber was deep, peaceful and rejuvenating. In her dreams, she was with Donatello. She dreamed in shapes, colours and sounds; no clear pictures, just feelings and impressions... _keening; flower; oyster; steel; suede; honey; fumble; shatter; trust; suckle; frisson; growl; cleft; glorious, triumphant, devastating._ Only one clear moment stood out:

Besotted, she straddles Donnie. He releases his hands from her breasts to interlock his fingers with hers. His elbows rest on the ground so that April is suspended above him and they are linked at lips, palms and hips. Don playfully whispers in April's ear, "Not bad, for a human."

The sensation was wonderful. The dream was perfect. Like a message from the universe that everything was going to be just fine.

* * *

**A/N** – The attempt on Raphael's life is a reference to IDW's TMNT New Animated Adventures (issue #4) where The Shredder tasks Dogpound and Foot soldiers with using kyosuu fruit poison against the Turtles. Thank you for reading and reviewing/messaging your support! Truly, your vibes fuel me, you wonderful Readers, You :)


	11. Chapter 10

_The only thing worse than falling into a Kraang dimension is trying to shake off a case of mono: man, that virus sticks worse than mutagen. Apologies for the wait, those of you patient enough to stick with this fic:__ I hope you likey!_

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Salutations, part 1**

"Everything that you know I have shown you, but I have not shown you everything that I know."

Splinter: _I, Monster _

.

It had been a late night for everybody, even by Turtle standards. Raph had let off steam by making multiple, long, um, _entries_ in his "Daily Blessings Journal". Leo's mind was absorbed with putative Foot Clan plots so, throughout much of the night, he'd stewed and meditated, meditated and stewed.

Donnie had only stewed: he still couldn't work a fix for his T-phone and was now pretty sure that his lab wouldn't have the right parts, either. He'd likely need to hit the junkyard to get the cell back online and finally revive his 24-7 contact with April. "24/7" in a non-creepy way, of course.

In the wee, small hours of the morning, Mikey had come home from a Kinekt Force game-a-thon with Leatherhead. Now cooking up breakfast, the youngest brother nursed a brownie hang-over.

Only Master Splinter had meditated himself to an early bedtime. Thus it was he who rose first with the smell of bacon, pancakes and apple relish. The latter was Michelangelo's specialty: a flavourful, aromatic sauce that he made only on weekends using fresh apples with ground whole sticks of cinnamon, cardamom and star anise – all gifts from April, who sometimes arrived early enough to join the feast. _Hamato Yoshi_'s tummy still registered these scents as life-affirming, even if Splinter preferred cheese and other proteins. Whiskers twitching in anticipation, he moved through the Lair towards the kitchen.

Splinter was not disappointed with the meal spread across the large kitchen table before him. After an evening in Leatherhead's company, Mikey's cooking was for, whatever reason, especially inspired. Plumes of steam danced off the tall, buttered stack of thick buckwheat pancakes, while slabs of glistening fatty bacon winked enticingly next to a large bowl of Bircher-style muesli. A tall carafe of coffee stood at attention to a large pot of tea. Mikey sat at one end of the table, daintily double-fisting a glass of OJ and another of water to remedy his wild night of chocolatey over-indulgence. While cooking, Mikey had set up the Kinekt Force game and, now, was replaying the new moves he'd learned by practicing with Leatherhead.

Stroking his long beard, the Rat glided into the kitchen and took a mug of hot gunpowder tea for himself before settling into a stool across from Mikey. Astutely, Splinter observed the game at hand.

"You are about to create a _Column of Doom_."

"A who-the-what now?", came Michelangelo's eloquent reply.

"A Column of Doom. It is the empty vertical line that you make when you position your pieces just so. In this situation, your opponent cannot drop his own piece into this column. If he does, then he creates the platform on which his opponent will bridge the gap between two adjacent pieces and one other piece, thus connecting four pieces and winning the game."

Splinter demonstrated the manoeuver for Mikey.

"Whoa."

"The Column of Doom is a cunning play. You effectively remove options for your enemy. This forces them in the direction that _you_ want to go – unless they do not mind defeat at your hands."

"Double whoa."

"My son, yesterday we discussed your sparring technique, and the need to be sensitive to your opponent's feelings and motivations in order to anticipate and block his moves."

Mikey's baby blues widened considerably: "We did?"

Splinter did a surprised double-take, then reminded himself with whom he was speaking. He gently persisted: "Yes, we did. When you bemoaned that Leonardo and Raphael – as you like to delicately put it – kicked your butt?"

"Oh, yeah. That. I think I blocked it out, Sensei. That was a really lousy training sesh' for me."

"The past 24 hours have been lousy in general, Michelangelo."

Mikey looked hard into his Father's eyes. "Um-hum", he nodded, "The past 24 hours have been a pretty big suck: which I would know, having been in the Lair all of the past 24 hours", the Turtle concluded with a butter-wouldn't-melt expression plastered to his face. Moving hastily along, Mikey asked, "So, tell me more about this Column of Doom thing?"

"Yes, of course, my son-who-would-never-think-to-manipulate-anyone. The point of this lesson, which is captured perfectly by this impeccable game from the late 1970s, is that in order to win any battle of any kind you must read your opponent. Then you can sensibly guess their motivation, and thus think ahead of them to predict their strategies and actions."

Eyes a-squint, index finger to chin, Mikey thought very hard on this advice. Splinter worried that the tea would cool before his son was done his contemplations. Finally, Mikey spoke: "Unless you're Raphael."

"Well - yes. Unless you are Raphael. In which case, it may work to simply beat whatever is in your way out of it. But the Column of Doom is a double-edge weapon. You may also trap yourself in the process, so you must be wary that you have not also limited your own options by reducing those of your enemy."

"Kinda like when I ate those Kinekt Force pieces cuz I was mad that Leo beat me?"

"Exactly kind of like that. My son, the bottom line here is that _it is not as important what moves you make, as what moves you force your opponent to make_."

As Splinter began to shift tack to Michelangelo's disobedient departure from the Lair the previous night, the oven timer chimed persistently. Mikey gracefully shifted from his perch to silence the timer and remove from the oven a heavy cast-iron pan that enveloped a perfectly puffy and golden pecorino cheese, pine nut and arugula omelette.

Splinter raised an eyebrow even as he began to salivate in a Pavlovian way. "My son, it seems that you have already learned this lesson."

"I have no idea what you mean by that Sensei, but I'm glad that you think so." Mikey wasn't always as naïve as people assumed. He expertly slid the omelette from pan to plate, sprinkled the golden surface with finely minced chives, and served it to Splinter with a metal fork wrapped in a serviette, successfully disarming the last of his father's resistance. Then, as an appetizer, he served himself a small bowl of the apple, yogurt and almond cereal. Life wasn't so bad after all.

Father and son tucked into their respective breakfasts, quietly enjoying the peace before the storm that would begin when the rest of the family woke up.

* * *

_Sorry if you're jonesing for pancakes now: I got a bit George R.R. Martin with the food descriptions here. Must be because my appetite's back – or that I like to leverage tasty meals to control people. Ha. ha. hurm... - Here, please have a pancake ;) Also, if you're keen on reading the background story about Mikey and LH's visit, please visit Ch. 2 of my fic, "Onegai Shimasu". As ever, thank you for reading and to my StealthyStories peeps for support!_


	12. Chapter 11

_Thank you for all the well wishes and supportive reviews! (and fun comments about snacks :D )_

* * *

**Chapter 11 – Salutations, part 2**

"_Like a river, over stone..._"  
Raphael: _Turtle Temper _

.

As April walked the sewer tunnels peripheral to the Lair she recalled Donatello's spice-and-earth musk. The virtual scent triggered a memory: April turned it over in her mind, like she was fiddling with a coin. In the early days, when she and Donnie were "just friends", she'd leaned in, to kiss him, on his cheek. It was her usual, wimbly display of affection.

She still didn't know why he'd broken character that time: rather than fumble, the ninja had boldly stated, plain as fact,

_"__You missed."  
__"__What?" April had blurted, confused.  
__"__You missed. You kissed my cheek. You missed my lips. Here: I'll show you how to aim right…"  
_

_And Don had leaned in, slowly, and gently kissed April on the mouth.  
__He'd tasted absolutely delicious.  
_

_After a moment, April had asked him where else she should have been aiming all this time.  
__That left Don a mumbling mess: his usual way around her. It had been incredibly cute._

Why hadn't he texted her back yet? She'd toyed with texting the other Turtles but didn't want to seem weird. OK: she didn't want to seem weirder than usual. Besides, maybe Don had really caught hell about his disappearance. She didn't want to stir up more trouble for him.

Hopefully she'd find out what was the what soon enough…

April approached the Lair's turnstiles. Despite the damp odor of the tunnels, the irresistible smell of pancakes and spices blossomed around her. April's stomach gurgled loudly.

The hungry teen made a beeline for the kitchen and not a second too soon: Raphael had just polished off his second stack of pancakes. As she entered, he was leaning back in his chair to make room in his stomach for round three.

He caught April's eye with a mix of surprise, chagrin and embarrassment. Quickly, he recovered by casually flipping her a greeting:

"Oh, hey, Red. There's a pancake or two left, if you want 'em. Plenty of apple relish, too." At which point, mock-ominously he squinted his eyes and warned, "But you better act fast or they're both gone."

Running with the joke, April smirked and squinted her own eyes to hold Raph's gaze: much like a hungry lion would another hungry lion as they stalked the same wounded baby pancake.

With the rest of her body stock-still, and without breaking eye contact, with one hand April deliberately pulled a pancake from the plate. To underscore her primacy, with her other hand she lifted the spoon from the relish bowl and slathered applesauce across the cake. Tossing the spoon back into the bowl, she used both hands to roll the pancake into a fat "cigar"; then proceeded to cram it into her mouth while sauce squished out the back end.

It was a truly gruesome display of dominance and territoriality.

"Well played, O'Neil, well played", joked Raph admiringly. "Just for that, I'll let you fight me for the last pancake."

"What… Last… Pancake?" issued April, innocently, between _om-noms_ and swallows.

Raph glanced at the plate where the last precious slab of carb had rested.

Bug-eyed, he looked back to April who, somehow, managed a self-satisfied smile while pushing the last of the "cigar" into her mouth. Across the upturned palm of her free hand she defiantly held aloft The Last Pancake as though playing keep-away with a trophy.

"Not bad, _Kunoichi_. Splinter is training you well."

April laughed as best she could around her mouthful of pancake. She finished swallowing, then clarified: "It's not Splinter. It's Mikey who's the guru of stealthy food acquisition. I believe he has a secret kata, too; but he'll only share it once I've proven worthy of such great trust and responsibility."

Their chit-chat lapsed for enough beats that, in light of the reason for Donnie's malfeasance, the silence grew awkward. Thankfully, before anyone had to force the convo, Leo breezed into the kitchen for a cold pack and noticed April's arrival.

"Hey, April. How's it going? Did Raph leave you any pancakes? After last night, I hope _he washed his hands_ before eating", he finished, staring pointedly at his brother. He opened the freezer and received a cold pack from Ice Cream Kitty.

April replied oh-so-sweetly, "Of course he left me some". She didn't dare follow up on the hand washing jibe. Then, noticing the ice, she asked Leo, "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Nah, just hyperextended my elbow. Again. Listen carefully to Sensei, April, so you don't adopt bad habits that will bite you in the butt years later."

"If you've got bad habits, Leo, then there's little hope for the rest of us."

Raph made a face. "Speak for yourself, Red. _Fearless_ is a walking cautionary tale of bad form."

"And you're a walking example of bad manners, Raph", returned Leo.

"OOoooooo! Aaaahhhhh! You've cut me to the quick with your wit katana, Leonardo. I think I need to borrow your ice pack!"

"Seems like you could _use_ it to ice your temper, Raph…"

As the two brothers bickered, April drifted out of the Lair's kitchen and into the living area - where Splinter was waiting to receive her.

* * *

Finally, Donatello had finished all his brothers' chores for that morning. Maybe now he'd finally have some time to fix his T-Phone: he desperately needed to make a parts-run. Being out of touch with April was crushing. But the only reason that Sensei was letting Donnie out of the Lair was because Don had emphasized the need to stay in contact with his brothers and father. _No T-Phone, no Talky_. And that was _very, very dangerous_ when out on patrol. Which he had emphasized to his Father. Repeatedly.

The only thing left to do – and Donatello could not believe that he was actually being made to do this – was to give Mikey the first of many Splinter-mandated Physics lessons. This punishment would redefine excruciating, likely for both brothers.

Don leaned back on his stool, next to the blackboard he'd set up in his laboratory for this ersatz class, and returned his focus to his younger bro.

A highly skeptical Michelangelo cross-examined his genius brother: "So…lemme get this straight…If I bite into a slice of pizza, then the pizza will bite me back?"

"No, the pizza is stopped from moving further into your mouth because you hold it in your hand _and then use your mouth to chew it_. It's not like the pizza is going to noticeably exert an equal and opposite force on you!"

"I don't even understand why The Newtralizer would care about this mumbo-jumbo."

"NEWTON! Sir Isaac _Newton_, physicist and mathematician extraordinaire, author of the Three Laws of Motion, the granddaddy of classical mechanics, not to mention…"

"_Oooooo_, he's the dude with the apple!"

Donnie succumbed. "Yes. Yes, Mikey. Newton is the dude with the apple."

"It's good that he ate a healthy diet." With his feet, Mikey twirled the seat of his lab stool until woozy.

Donatello sighed deep and long. "Before we both die from mental exertion, can you please repeat back what we covered today?"

Michelangelo braked the stool with his legs. Pushing the tip of his finger against his chin, he mulled over Donnie's request.

"Well, _first_: if I start spinning my nunchuks, they'll stay moving until I stop their minershia.  
_Two_: if my body thumps Raph, then his body will give me an equal but opposite reaction.  
_Three_: if I eat a lotta pizza then it will take more force to get my ass off the sofa."

"_Mass_, Mikey. It will take more force to accelerate your heavier _mass_ off the sofa." Still, Donnie was shella impressed that so much of what he'd tried to teach Michelangelo seemed to have sunk in.

"OK, well: it looks like we can legitimately tell Splinter that we've completed today's lesson. Time to go scavenging!" Donnie finished gleefully despite the dour circumstances. He gathered up his satchel and slipped his bo into its harness across his shell. Mikey secured his _nunchuku_ in their holders and patted his T-phone to make sure that it was in place. That was obviously the only reason his older bro was letting him tag along on this mission: Mikey was the _coms_ link to the Lair.

Donnie pushed open one of the lab's vast metal doors and let Mikey exit first, sliding the door closed behind them both. He must be deep in April-withdrawal because he swore he could smell a hint of her bouquet in the Lair. Unless…?!

He looked around and saw her below, in the living area, in conversation with Splinter. Heart pounding through his plastron, Donnie froze. Ever his friend, his mind began to keen a futile high pitched whine against the pop-and-hiss of brainwaves turned the texture of television static. His vision tunneled appropriately.

_April. Splinter. Want to talk to April. Splinter in the way. Embarrassing. April. I am such a noob. April! _

"DONNIE!", Mikey veritably screeched in his brother's earhole.

"Whu'?", Don focused his eyes on Michelangelo, ready to tear a strip off him for his wince-inducing yelp.

"Bro, you totally zoned out! What's wrong with you!?"

"April! Where'd she go?"

"Dude, she and Splinter walked into the dojo, like, five minutes ago! April was tryin' to catch your eye like nobody's business: I thought she was gonna pull out a soupspoon to give it a final try. Or launch a flare off Splinter's nose. Where in your giant egg head did you disappear into?"

Donnie felt that he needed a giant prosthetic hand for the magnitude of face palm his idiocy deserved.

"NUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!" A groan of self-disgust was all he could muster.

"I told Spinter that we were done class and I understood everything about how everything works now."

"And he still let us go?"

"I think he's still high on my cheesy omelette goodness."

"Well – as you like to say, Mikey – _whatevs_. Let's get out of here before he changes his mind. Did you grab Raph's trench coat?"

Mikey beamed at his older brother: "Yeah, I got it, and the spare he keeps, too."

Donnie's mood lifted, marginally. "Ok, little bro' – let's go diving for tech."

* * *

.


	13. Chapter 12

_Wow - thanks so much for the enthusiastic reviews! Reviews should be called "Refuels" (that's totally a name that Leo would invent and Mikey would diss ;P )_

* * *

**Chapter 12 – _Matriculations_**

_"__Our family is strong. I only hope that we are strong enough"_  
Master Splinter

.

April studied with excessive interest the rivulet of hot tea as it slid down the _tetsubin_'s outer curve. At the cast iron kettle's base, the drop pooled; then slowly bled outward as it was drawn osmotically across the plain burlap tablecloth.

Steam silently swirled upward from the chubby pot's spout.

There was no timepiece in Master Spinter's dojo-come-_chashitsu_, or tearoom, yet in April's mind the awkwardly insistent "TICK! TOCK! TICK!" of a phantom wall clock punctuated her unease at this turn in the conversation with her Sensei.

The _kunoichi_ shifted uncomfortably on her tatami mat. Cupping her unrefined yet elegant tea bowl in both palms, the teen raised the bowl's ceramic lip to moisten her own mouth and stall for time before answering Splinter.

Finally, she looked up at him, her features a mixture of confusion and shame.

"_Hai_, Master Splinter: I consulted _Wikipedia_."

Deliberately, Splinter sighed _just enough_ to show April his discontent. The Rat gathered himself, ready with a measured reply to his student.

"April. The internet is of course very useful. To fashion a comfortable life here in the sewers, my sons and I have _relied_ on the _World Wide Web_, on many an occasion - not in the least to settle patently ludicrous debates about film trivia. While this particular _online encyclopedia_ is usually accurate, it is imperfect and changeable: _wabi-sabi_, if you will.

There are many more ninja factions that continue to employ _tessenjutsu_ than you, or _Wikipedia_, would ever know. Funnily enough, ninja typically do not blog. It is simply fortunate that The Foot Clan prizes _brutality_ above grace: the _tessen_ has no place in the dojo of The Foot. Its lack of expertise in the _tessen_ should prove a great advantage for you in combat with Clan soldiers – although I pray this never happens. While knowledge, married to skill, toughened by experience is the ultimate weapon, experience battling The Foot is one that I would prefer you not acquire for several years yet. If ever.

Now. If you have moistened your palate then I would suggest we resume your kata. These moves should become as second nature to you as texting."

Pupil and Master stood and moved towards the centre of the dojo.

Splinter folded his hands in front of himself. Arching an elegant eyebrow, he leveled his gaze at his _kunoichi_: "Do you recall _mushin_?"

"_Hai_, Sensei", April replied promptly, seeking to re-enter Splinter's good graces. "When practising battle forms, _mushin_ is 'the mind of no mind'".

"Good, that is correct. _Mushin _is the ability to consciously clear your thoughts so that they do not interfere with your intuition. Or, as is Michelangelo's preferred terminology for _mushin_, enter "The Zone". Even for one as sensitive as you, April: when you attain _mushin_, you activate your ultimate speed and stealth. Your body and your survival instincts take over, guiding your actions with split-second accuracy. It is vital that you learn to "trust your gut" in a fight. Allow _mushin_ to guide your thoughts and actions."

Clearly in her own state of _mushin_, April blurted, "Does that apply to love, too?"

Splinter held himself still. Carefully, he studied his pupil. After a moment's pause, The Rat responded to the uneasy young woman in front of him.

"Yeeess, I imagine that _mushin_ has merit in matters of war _and_ love. Both require courage, strength and strategy – and not a little lunacy. To achieve victory, they also demand passion and conviction. _Overthinking_ can bring tragedy and defeat."

April's brow furrowed as she reflected on the past couple of days and the many permuted scenarios she'd projected onto the lack of communication from Donatello.

Splinter wondered how far down this road the conversation would travel. In light of the past 24 hours' events, he decided to guide it a little.

"In fact – and perhaps not mentioned by _Wikipedia_ – the tessen is often likened to Love. The fan seduces with grace and beauty, yet is so swift and sharp that one's enemy is the last to know he has been bitten. The tessen is often chosen by women because it is most effective when wielded – not with brute force – but with style, wit and deception: skills not typically encouraged in male soldiers. Some particularly liken the tessen to a woman's love – capricious and punishing. But I do not agree; men and women can prove equally deadly with others' hearts. Love, is a battlefield.

But let me not tell, and instead _show_ you what I mean, April. Begin your _kihon_ kata."

April bowed, and assumed the starting pose.

"Hajime. _Ichi_!"

As she stepped forward, April flicked her wrist in and her elbow out chin level, the still-folded tessen held close her face.

"You see, this position makes it appear that your elbow is the weapon and the tessen but a trivial accessory.

_Ni_!"

April rapidly arced her arm back past her face, carving down in a belly-level strike, the tessen fully expanded and edge-on to April's imagined opponent.

"Now, if you have done this move impeccably, your enemy will be gathering his intestines from the floor. If not, he will be winded. Either one works for the next move:

_San_!"

As she ghosted forward again, April expertly flicked her wrist to collect the tessen's blades back together. Without pause, and supporting her bent right elbow with her left hand, she jammed her tessen end up into where the soft, vulnerable underside of her enemy's chin would be.

"At this point your enemy will be hard-pressed to complain – or to shout to alert his fellow soldiers or guards. But if necessary… _Shi_! _Go_! _Roku_!"

Flicking her tessen open, April smoothly advanced in rapid-fire forty-five degree steps – right, left, right again – as if dodging an enemy sword at the same time that her blocks were counter-attacks in their own right. Bending her knees, she twirled low. As she pushed herself upwards she forcefully swung the still-open tessen at neck-level.

April held the pose then, gracefully, gathered herself and bowed to signal the kata's conclusion.

"What would your opponent be doing now?", Splinter queried his pupil.

"Looking for his head", grinned April in response.

"Yame, _kunoichi_. Yes. Most kata for tessen are – con_cise_. The idea is that you are in close quarters and require stealth and speed to survive. Otherwise, you would choose a different type of weapon. This is also why a ninja such as Raphael adopts _shuriken_ for attacks that _sais_ cannot perform. Also, the tessen exploits the enemy's assumptions of what is ornamental – or lethal. The grand error is…"

"…assuming that both are mutually exclusive", finished April.

"Exactly", approved Splinter as he stroked his fine beard with agile fingers.

"So why doesn't Raphael use the tessen?"

It took a heartbeat for Splinter to realize that April was joking. He allowed himself as much of a guffaw as he ever would. April smiled subtly in return.

"Raphael is actually not that bad with a tessen", Splinter answered finally, "But I never said as much. As you know, his preference is for _brute force_." The comment reminded him of how vulnerable April remained in a city run by The Shredder. And potentially at a loss in a world cohabited by Donatello.

"April, I am confident that prior to… that _Mr. O'Neil_ has long ago prepared you for young adulthood, with the appropriate information about consequences and…protection? _Hrm_, including knowledge of key choke holds?

"_Hai_, Sensei", April affirmed as she did extensive mental multiplication to fight off a blush response. Unconsciously, she fiddled with the tessen still in her hands.

Splinter pushed a bit farther. "Romantic love cuts a unique sort of pain. Conversely, a parent's love brings entirely another, more sinister type of ache. When a Father loves a child, even a child who is grown, it is as if his heart lives outside his body, entirely in the hands of this other, beloved person. As a parent, if we are to function without constant fear, we must choose to forget how vulnerable we have become."

Looking off to the side, the Rat carried on, clearly in his own state of _mushin_. "I worry that, even for my own experience with love, because I was human I will fall short of the unique advice that my sons need. One son in particular. Maybe two. This is but the beginning of the type of struggles that my boys will have throughout their adult lives."

Somewhat sadly, but in a manner meant to reassure, Splinter smiled at April. "But, truly: nothing changes. Life is love, and hate. Both bring pain. Love is better. Always choose Love, if you can, April. But surely I am bending your ear beyond what you wanted to know. You already have one father. You do not need a second one."

"What if I don't mind having a second one?", asked April, quietly. "Would that be so bad?"

Splinter's whiskers twitched. Now it was the Rat's turn to rally his poker face. Suddenly, he allowed himself to yield, and turned compassionate ochre eyes to the teen's worried blue ones.

"No, _kunoichi_. That would not be so bad at all."

Splinter changed tack, deciding to be as frank with April as he was with his son: "You and Donatello are good together."

April looked up, relief plastered across her features. "Why do you think that, Sensei?"

"Because you are both similarly weird", Splinter smiled. "April, whatever happens, good _and_ bad - these are experiences that both of you must embrace and grow through. For all the pain in my life: what can I change? There is nothing that I can "take back". Regret is energy misspent. Always look ahead, eyes wide open for not only danger - but also opportunity and joyfulness.

"Huh." … April paused and thought. Her mood was decidedly lighter. She decided to change tack, too.

"So, ….Mikey must have really good _mushin_, hey, Sensei?"

"Indeed. I believe he mastered it while still in the shell."

* * *

_BTW, I totally used Wikipedia and the internet to research the tessen and made up 95% of the above tessen kata and strategy. A ninja does as she must. But if you for reals know sh*t about tessens, drop me a line! :D Oh, and if you know what epi. Splinter's quote is from, please let me know and I'll add it!_


	14. Chapter 13

_Why did it me take a bajillion months to post this? _Reasons :) _Sorry. Thanks for caring enough to take a look, my lovely readers, new or returning!_

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Investigations, part 1**

"You really think Mikey and Donnie wouldn't understand-" (pauses to think) "You really think Donnie wouldn't understand?"  
Raphael: _Karai's Vendetta _

.

"Booyakasha dude  
I skateboard all four seasons  
Pizza. More Pizza."

Zen-like, Mikey slowly opened his baby blues and smiled at his older, taller brainiac brother. "Owned it! See? Not so hard. Your turn."

Donatello sighed into the long, hot sewer tunnel they were walking through. He worked algorithms, not poems. "Mikey…", he started, wiggling out of the challenge.

"No, no, _no_", Michelangelo systematically interjected, "If _Raph_ can make up a haiku, then _you_ have _no_ excuses."

Wait, Raph made up a what? Aw, shell. A mutant-turtle-sized glove was thrown down. Don could not refuse.

Another of Donnie's sighs echoed down the hazy sewer tunnel, this time in defeat. He tried to let the words flow and tap his creative juices. Walking alongside his brother, he squared his shoulders and focused his mind:

"_Just like Gravity,  
__Evolution is a Law  
__Of Life on Earth_"

Donnie stared very hard down the tunnel. Mike looked sidelong at his brother. Lightly, he asked: "Dude, say 'Earth' again?"

"Urth"

"That's what I thought. Short one syllable. You need a fifth syllable."

First, anger. "Mikey, why do you even care about this stuff?" Then, dejection. "I'll add it to my long list of things I'm crap at." Another sigh.

Donnie trudge on, trying to ignore the heat and stink of the sewer. They'd taken off their stolen trench coats long ago, the pleasure of pissing off Raph outweighed by the sweaty stick of the heavy clothing. Both coats now sat at the bottom of Donnie's satchel. At least they were close: the Foot's high-tech chop shop was sure to be air conditioned, if only to keep the hot parts cool. With all the smart phones the Purple Dragons boosted for resale profit, Don was sure to find what he needed to repair his cracked T-phone.

He didn't feel bad taking tech from the Foot. The best stuff, the stuff Don wanted, the Foot made themselves, for Clan phones, and to evade the NYC police geek squad. And, now and again, they had pieces of Kraang tech in their clean room. There was no good reason that Donnie could think of to _not_ steal those alien components from his enemy.

Mikey broke Don's reverie. "Aw, don't be like that. You know I love playing word games with you, Donnie. Would your sighnami have anything to do with April?"

Donnie held his tongue while he thought. Reluctantly he confessed, "Yeah, Mikey, it does."

"Well, I for one think that it's totally awesome that you guys _finally_ went out for pizza together."

Donnie did a double take."Whaa..?"

"Aw, don't be coy, D. April 'fessed up that you guys enjoyed some pizza together, _by yourselves_. That's _gotta_ be worth bein' _happy_ about, right?"

"Mikey, sometimes - no, wait - _all the time_, you're just the weirdest thing."

Michelangelo puffed with pride. "I try, bro. I try." Then, more gently, he prodded. "But, honestly, D., you seem so dejected and freaked out about this. I'd expect you to be over the moon! It's April! - What's up?"

Donatello didn't have a clue how to explain how he felt to Mikey because he couldn't even crystalize for himself what was going on. He decided to roll with Mikey's accidental metaphor.

"Well, OK. So we went for pizza together. And that IS awesome! _More_ than awesome!" Quietly, Don reiterated to himself, '_More_ than awesome'. Then, speaking to Mikey again:

"It's like, the BEST pizza that you could ever imagine, and then, _even better_ than that. _Life altering pizza_."

Solemnly, Mikey nodded in full understanding.

"And then, it's like you wonder – how long can this pizza last? Will I be able to keep making this pizza? Or, what if I can, but the people sharing the pizza discover that they have different views about pizza and what pizza means to them?

What if April gets tired of this particular pizza, and wants to try something new? Maybe she realizes that pizza's just the start of culinary adventures into the greater world into which the pizza cannot enter or participate. And…well..."

Donnie swallowed.

Staring straight ahead, he finished his thoughts. "…What if it's all too much? What if eating pizza alone is just – simpler. Less likely to end with people you love getting bored or upset or disappointed in you?"

In disbelief, Mikey stopped walking, put his hands on Don's shoulders and locked eyes with his brother.

"D., Pizza is NEVER boring. There are just too many possibilities!

But, look, you totally _get it_. Pizza is NEVER just pizza. Even when it's just pizza. It represents how you feel, reflects who you are, and who you want to be."

Mikey's throat tightened and his voice rose in pitch.

"I never thought I'd see the day when anyone else fully appreciated the momentous deep-dish depth of 'za."

Gone verklempt, Mikey leaned in and enveloped his brother in a bear hug.

Donnie leaned into the hug. A large amount of the tension that he had been carrying ebbed into the floor, and seemed to be carried away in the trickling stream of sewer water.

Unbidden, Don let out a tiny, choked sob. Neither brother could tell if it was from crying or laughter.

Suddenly, Mikey asked, "Donnie, what if you could build a time machine, but it took the same amount of time to travel as the time you traveled to?"

Donnie was pretty sure that his confusion was terrible to behold.

"OK, I can see that my thought process is going over your head. Let me break it down for you. Let's say you wanted to travel five minutes into the future. And it takes your time machine five minutes to travel there. Would you still be in the future?"

"Oh my day, Mikey."

"I thought so." Michelangelo smiled, satisfied that he'd refined the laws of physics.

Donnie shook his head. "Mikey, I think that your time machine would put a fine point on the soundbite, 'The future is now.'"

"Donnie, if you could go back in time and change anything in the past 24 hours, would you?"

Without skipping a heartbeat, Donnie replied, "Not a chance."

"Good, because I texted Leatherhead to come join us."

* * *

"Leo! **LEO**!" Raph hollered as he strode across the Lair looking for his brother. _Where the (*$% was Leonardo_? April had phoned him in some sort of a crisis, Raph needed to leave the Lair stat, and it was still daylight out. He wanted his trench coat, dammit!

"_Fearless_, you better not have borrowed my stuff again!" Crickets. Not a peep from his brother.

"ARRRRG!" Where was he!? Fine. _Whatever_. He didn't need a stupid coat for camouflage. Or Leonardo. He'd go find April on his own.

* * *

Walking through the Lair's living area, Splinter sighed at his boys' detritus. Pausing beside a bean bag chair, he bent down to pick up a balled up piece of notepad. Curious, Splinter straightened out the crumped paper and stared at the printing:

Trench coat hides me well.  
Even better than my shell.  
In New York City.

Smiling to himself, he tucked Raphael's haiku into his robe, a rare keepsake, of a gruff son.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Hopefully, I'll update before 2017. Ha ha. Ah-herm._


	15. Chapter 14

_Closure is good, this story will have an ending. But you, sweet, intelligent readers, merit a non-crap ending. Much time, that may take. _Hurmph._ For the wait, sorry am I. __BTW, the end of this chapter is sort of grim. Heads up. It will become a pattern._

* * *

**Chapter 14 – Investigations, part II**

_"You better hand over the phone, or so help me, I'll kick your hairy butt all the way to New Jersey!"  
_Raphael, "_Turtle Temper_"  
.

As if from nothing a massive shadow peeled off the tunnel wall. It reminded Donatello of a camping story that April had shared:

_The hiking trail began at the edge of a gravel parking lot bookended by forest. April's group was about to set off when, suddenly, from the woods materialized a huge brown bear. The beast loped unnervingly fast along the forest border for a few meters before vanishing back into the trees._

_Just._

_Gone._

_A massive predator camouflaged by a foot's depth of bramble. Nobody would see that bear coming._

_Instead of hiking, they decided to go for coffee._

Similarly, Donnie now wanted to be someplace else. He backed away from the huge shade, unconsciously palming his face to confirm that it was properly attached.

In greeting and respect, Leatherhead tipped his giant torso towards the taller of the two Ninja Turtles. The mutant croc had learned that asking Donatello 'how his face felt that day' was not received as the kindness that it was intended to be.

"Michelangelo", Leatherhead rumbled, "It is a delight to see you and your brother, as always. But you are out early. Does the intense heat of this day not trouble you?"

"Elle-Aaaaaaaache", Mikey drawled, "we're on _tech patrol_. Donnie's gotta scavenge some parts for his Shell-Cell ASAP." Then, stage whispering, he confided: "It got, um…_broke_."

"Broken. Not _broke_. My phone doesn't have a bank account", Donnie interjected. Even to himself he sounded like a shrill, uptight jerk: _Geez, D_.

Mikey squished up his freckles at Don, and continued.

"I thought maybe we could pick up a new phone for you, _too_, Leatherhead. One that plays different ring tones so, um…you can tell when it's me calling. Instead of, like… Slash, or…something", the younger turtled finished, a little more quietly.

From the gloom, Leatherhead studied his large-hearted friend and carefully chose his words. "I am fortunate to now have several friends including the Mutanimals. Not long ago I could not have fathomed solace or companionship in my life. That I have achieved both is possible because of you, Michelangelo."

Even in the dim light of the sewer, Mikey glowed a little. "Yeah, well: I get that people are puzzles. An' the people we need to be our pieces can change based on life and whatever. And that's OK." He finished, nodding his own head in finality.

"Well, you're certainly puzz_ling_." muttered Donnie. "Can we please pick up the pace? I want to get these parts and fix my phone before April knows, rather than simply suspects, that I'm a massive idiot."

The trio walked onwards, Mikey and Leatherhead absorbed in the easy chitchat of best friends, Donnie daydreaming of private T-phone conversations with April. Private, sexy conversations.

When they arrived at their exit, Leatherhead excused himself.

"I will part with you here. I have some errands to run. I will return and meet you when you have completed your mission."

Once the crocodilian had left, Donnie muttered, "What kind of errands does a ginormous mutant carnivore run on a Sunday at lunchtime?"

"It's NYC. LH knows how to forage", Mikey explained by explaining nothing.

Donnie just went a little cockeyed at his brother, grabbed a rung on the tunnel wall and started climbing.

The brothers hoisted themselves up and through the floor grate. It opened directly into the large warehouse where the Foot had set up their chop shop for mobile phones. With so much demand for cheap, disposable and/or untraceable mobiles, the market was swift, low risk and fairly lucrative. The inside of the warehouse was of course was covered by surveillance cameras linked to Foot HQ. Donnie and Mikey slipped through in the shadows and exploited blind spots in the cameras' positions.

Donnie pointed and explained in a whisper to Mikey, "See that special static-free clean room? It's for sensitive electrical works, swapping internal processors, etcetera. That's where I need to go."

"Then it's time", Mikey said with solemnity.

"Time?"

"_Time_", affirmed Miley, "For the trench coats."

Mikey pulled Raphael's principal and spare trench coats from Don's pack, neatly unfolding one and handing it to Don, who took the coat more on reflex than anything. As Mikey put on his own coat he quietly explained,

"Dude, it's daytime, an' even I know this place is like the set of _Real Dads of Poughkeepsie_: it's totally covered in cameras. Sensei says that every bit of cover helps a mission. Plus, it's air conditioned to the max in here. Totally chilly. What a waste of non-renewable energy", he clucked to himself.

Don did as his brother advised: it _was_ a bit chilly in here, even after the heat of the sewers.

The two slunk towards the clean room.

Once inside, Donnie used Mikey's functional cell to snap a photo of the empty room, then taped the phone-including-photo against the security camera lens. He'd been ready to hack the camera's feed to upload the photo until Mikey had suggested the simple MacGyver. He had to concede the effectiveness of the idea.

Next, Donnie had to locate the various electronic parts. Not everything fit, and the bits weren't exactly well organized. He also found and carefully packed up several more contraband parts and pieces he might need for future repairs or phone mods. No point breaking into the same crappy Foot warehouse twice, as far as he was concerned. Also? He was sure that if he looked hard enough, he'd score some Kraang tech. Better to get what he could while he could, especially since everything was miraculously quiet and uneventful. Even with Mikey tagging along.

* * *

Karai paused only for the moment that it took her to confirm the identities of Donatello and Michelangelo on the security camera feed. The sophisticated shape recognition software that The Foot had recently implemented had now more than paid for itself by flagging the Turtles as they entered the warehouse. It would take her some minutes to get there. The opportunity was ideal. Karai would be damned if she'd waste it. Today she'd make Father proud: Donatello would be dead within hours.

She spun on her heel, and strode back to where Fishface and Rahzar were waiting for orders.

"Pack the poison, the darts. _NOW_. And be careful – I wouldn't care if you pricked yourselves, but the toxin was incredibly difficult to get. No second chances with it."

Both henchmen nodded, bowed and made themselves scarce.

"I bet you prick yourself every night", Fishface smiled at Rahzar, as they set about loading the small travel case.

"At least I have one. What's it like, living with a cloaca?", snarled the Hound, nastily.

"Don't knock what you don't understand, mammal", placidly returned Fishface.

* * *

It took Mikey slightly longer than usual to become entirely bored with the clean room. Donnie had slapped Mikey's grabby mitt enough times that Mikey recognized the universal family signal that he should leave. He ghosted out into the greater warehouse to look for a fancy new phone for Leatherhead.

Mikey darted, dodged and ducked across the building's floor. He could almost hear the violin plucks sound-tracking his movements. Most of the phones stocked in the factory were towards the centre of the floor: easier for suspicious Foot Clan eyes to catch sticky-fingered employees. Those phones weren't worth the risk of being seen on camera. He stayed close to the periphery and the shadows.

About to concede defeat, Mikey rounded the corner of a large stack of wooden pallets and was struck still and dumb by the sight before him, sitting on a crate. It was as though a surprised Kraang alien had been caught mating with Ripley's pulse rifle. The strange apparatus was part glowing electric pink plasma, part super-shiny silver alloy. It was about the size of a really deluxe smoothie blender.

There were lots of little metals styluses hinged to the main frame, sort of like a centipede's legs, and what looked like a spiky hair net. Clearly the thing was loaded with mutagen, too. Whatever it was, Mikey was absolutely sure that he shouldn't touch it.

Luckily, his satchel was big enough to slide over the apparatus without having to touch it.

Mikey almost fake-casual whistled as he inched back towards the shadows, the clean room and Donatello. And that's when he smelled Rahzar.

* * *

On April's walk back home after brunch and training at the Lair, the only reason that she'd stopped to look down the heat-baked, piss-stinky, garbage-strewn New York alley was because her intuition rang like an alarm bell. Waves of trauma and terror floated to the fore of her amygdala, impossible to ignore.

_What had happened here?_

April took tentative steps into the alley. What the hell was she looking at?

A sports bag. A...a broken hockey stick? Ice skates tilted up at strange angles, almost like they were on display in a shop. Bizarre for a hot summer day. Everything was red, and thick, and pungent.

The broad wooden blade of the stick seemed to float mid-air. The handle was deeply embedded in something...a pile of clothing? April couldn't tell what was anchoring the stick, or the ice skates. Gingerly, she bent down for a closer look.

Of all pattern recognitions, people are hardwired to recognize faces. Through the mess, it was the young woman's nose that April saw first, then her glazed eyes. Once she understood that she was looking at a human face, she oriented the positions and angles of the skates dug into the woman's abdomen, the hockey stick further down towards her thighs. The deeply distressing and macabre puzzle fell together, despite the vehement rebellion of April's mind against understanding.

_notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal notreal __notreal __notreal_

Giant, mutant, martial arts animals, and robot aliens, were so much easier to accept than this. April prayed that the rape had happened after the murder.

The teen phoned 911. Then Leo. Then Raph. Then she threw up. The stink of her vomit was an improvement on the fetid stench of the gore. April conversed with the girl's corpse while she waited to the police to arrive. There was clearly nothing else that she could do.

* * *

_Whoa. Sorry if that was a sharp turn in the narrative. I've been planning what's to come next for a while so it's exciting to finally get my act in gear and I hope that you can stick with me (or at least bother to skim-read the next few chapters) as we go down the rabbit hole (um, sewer tunnel?). __THANK YOU FOR READING and possibly reviewing! XD_


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 - Recalibrations**

_"__I know bait doesn't talk back"  
_Donatello,_ "The Gauntlet"_

.

_Sometimes, suddenly, you realize that a golden age has ended. Only after the fact, you understand that you're on the other side of a proverbial line._

_Probably it's a series of subtle, incremental happenings that shuffled you into the abyss. But maybe, you were pitched over the precipice by a single large event, a monumental sky-written "F/CK YOU!" as large as your sense of security once was. _

_Either way, life is different, and there's no going forward until you go back and figure out what the hell happened._

_._

Raph found a recently-showered, PJ-clad April wrapped in a blanket and perched on the sill of her bedroom window. The teen was white knuckling a steaming cup of tea despite the sweltering summer night. Her gaze was hollow and distant. To Raph, she looked in shock.

The ornery Turtle wasn't a talker on his best days. But, especially to a touchy-feely-ascetic like Raphael, it was clear that the situation called for company, not convos. He didn't have a clue what had happened, but Raph recognized the turmoil thinly veiled by April's 1000 yard stare.

Silently, Raph seated himself on the floor of the fire escape, near but not touching April's bare feet. She shifted millimeters closer to his shoulder, her single recognition of his arrival.

Both friends sat in an ersatz meditation: April deliberately absorbed with the ragged noise of gridlocked traffic and gnarled humanity; Raphael systematically identifying constellations in the evening dusk. Even with the city's light pollution, the sewer-dweller reveled in the open night sky.

Raph had just begun to invent new constellations when April finally spoke.

"Casey. That was her name. Casey Jones."

Studying the stars, Raph raised an eyeridge.

Voice hoarse, April continued.

"She'd been beaten. And…worse. So much worse. She played varsity hockey. The police think it might have been gay-bashing…" Then, more bitterly, "Maybe it was just that she was a woman on 'men's turf'. They wanted to teach her a lesson, put her in her place. Oh my God, I don't even know who 'they' _is_."

Raph's cantering heart rate was the only sign that he grasped the magnitude and horror of what April was sharing with him.

She resumed, her voice carefully deadened. "They used her skates, Raph. They used her gear, her hockey stick, to… to… I just, oh my God, I can't imagine. How much did she feel? Did they kill her before they…"

Turning to Raph to make eye contact for the first time, April continued with urgency.

"She looked like meat, Raph. She looked like a terrible sculpture carved to dehumanize a woman. I keep running through the sight of her, the smell, the stick of her blood on my hands and arms. I couldn't find where to do first aid on her before I recognized that I was way too late to save her. There was nothing I could do but phone it in."

Body tensed stock-still, Raphael continued to listen carefully.

"And she looked tough, Raph. Real tough. I mean, she was a hockey player for God's sake. She was taller than me, three times as solid than I could ever hope for. Brick shithouse. Built like. But it didn't matter. She probably broke her own hockey stick trying to fight off her attackers. God, I hope it was more than one attacker, you know? Like, OK, more than one person could take you down, but one-on-one, you should stand a chance if you're that physically fit, right? Isn't that what we train for? To make it out alive? To beat the bad guy?"

Finally, Raph broke his silence. "You think it was a mutant?"

April though for a moment, then shook her head. "No. I wondered about that, too. It would make sense, right? Ten times the strength and all that… But - and this is what makes me the sickest - this grotesque attack is entirely within the remit of human behaviour. Maybe typical of it, even." April gritted her teeth. "Honestly, Raph, be proud to be super-human. Clearly, garden variety humans are a disappointment."

And this was a perfect example of why Raphael held April dear to his grumpy-ass mutant heart.

He cleared his throat: "So how do you know her name?"

"It was on her duffel bag. And in her I.D., the police said. The attackers didn't even steal her wallet. Is it bad that, to me, it seems worse that they didn't even care about checking her for money?"

Fury crept into Raph's voice. "Nah. It just drives home their mission to degrade and destroy someone they decided was too different to merit basic rights of respect and safety."

April became even more agitated as she unpacked her feelings: "Raph, the Foot I can cope with. The Foot makes sense. Even if The Shredder is twisted, his hatred for Master Splinter and your family is consistent and predictable. The Foot's code of conduct pretty much _broadcasts_ to me that I'm at risk. But walking home after a hockey practice on a summer weekend only to have _that_ happen to you…?"

Raphael thought for a moment, searched April's face, and with a bitter edge to his voice spoke hard words to his distraught friend.

"April, at some point, pretty much everyone learns – I mean, _really_ learns, for themselves – that life isn't fair. Maybe today was your lesson. Then again, your lesson was milder than for a lot of people 'cos you're alive and safe. I'm not preaching survivor's guilt, Red. I'm saying that you got the chance to do something about what you learned. It's not my call, but whatever you do, I hope it includes coping in a way that doesn't leave you in pieces. And if coping involves punching, then I hope that you ask me along."

April pieced through Raph's frank advice, and then chose her words carefully.

"Eff you, Raphael. For much of my life, I haven't had a Mom; my Dad's quite literally been abducted by aliens; and I'm in love with someone who – also literally – leads a secret, underground life. _In a sewer_. I don't need any more evidence that life is not fair. I know, in a very firsthand way, that _life is not fair!"_

Suddenly feeling about as smart as a crap sandwich, Raph back-peddled.

"OK, totally, I hear you, April. I'm sorry, you're right. I guess…. I mean…" The frustrated Turtle sighed. "OK, it's like this: I wanted you to always feel immune to this awful stuff. That's what my family has been trying to do for years: teach you how to beat the snot outta anybody, _and_ make you feel that you'd never need to. Because _we_ would _always_ look out for you. And now some psycho murderer/rapist ruins it for everyone."

He sighed deeply and sheepishly looked at April.

April didn't know how to respond to Raph's patently, ludicrously naïve understatement of the obvious. At a loss, she conceded the tiniest of smiles.

"I think that it's your cozy little bubble that was burst today, Princess Sobs-A-Lot."

Catching the dry humour, Raph's own expression relaxed as he replied,

"Touché, sister." Shoulders sagging a little, he confided, "You didn't hear it from me, April, but all this tension with The Shredder..." He let his sentence drift off, unwilling to verbalize his own emotional toll. "Let's just say, the stakes are the highest they've ever been for my family, and I know it."

The Turtle huffed. Squaring his torso as if to shake off his anxiety, he asked, "You got any more tea?"

"For you? All the macha in the East Village that ten dollars can buy. By the way, what's with that asshole brother of yours that hasn't phoned me back in almost two days?"

Raph chuckled in the darkness. "Huh. 'Genius' totalled his own phone. Talk about going to extremes to avoid a difficult conversation."

April tensed. "You mean, he broke his T-phone? On purpose?"

Oblivious to April's misread of his words, a still-grinning Raph replied, "Yeah. Splinter gave him heck for it, too. Told him he needed to show respect to others, take responsibility for his mistakes".

April swallowed hard. "His mistakes…", she repeated to herself. _How could that be? Master Splinter said he thought she and Don were perfect for each other, didn't he?_ Then, "So, where is Donnie now?"

"Well – and this is best part – Splinter made D. take Mikey out with him to find repair parts for his cell. I swear, Donnie couldn't wait to get out of the Lair this morning and get back to tech-diving and whatever other geekery soothes his nerdy, loner self."

As though chiding herself for not seeing the signs, April muttered, "Perception is reality."

Raph looked at her quizzically. "I'd call reality, reality. But whatever. _I'm_ just glad to have been there to answer your call, April."

With a short nod, April forced a half-smile. "I'll get us that tea".

Soon after she had slid back through her bedroom window, Raph heard mundane noises of china clinking and water boiling. The familiar sounds were soothing. Raph realized he'd been clenching his fists the whole time. He made himself relax into the metal of the fire escape.

Returning his gaze to the night sky, a thought suddenly swept into his mind.

"Huh. I always thought 'Casey' was a dude's name."

.

* * *

_I got nothing against Casey Jones, but he takes the fall for my dislike of the Casey-April-Donnie love triangle. That plotline consistently reduces April to little other than a love interest tool used to advance male character development. It's about time that April's narrative was much richer than - to paraphrase Whedon The Effulgent - "Choosing Boyfriends: the TV Show". And THIS freedom of expression is why writing one's own fan fiction is the bob-omb. Anyhoo – THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING, LOVELY READERS (even if you have a "CASEY JONES 4 EVA" tattoo someplace with lots of nerve endings).  
_


	17. Chapter 16

_This chapter was so much fun to knit together (hopefully it's not like one of those crazy-uneven scarf projects). I do hope that you enjoy, even if it's a longer (and darker) entry! (Recall that this fic branches off fairly early in the 2012 series, so stuff about retromutagen is -I hope- consistent with the plotline at that point.)_

* * *

**Chapter 16 - Devastations**

_"__When I awaken, I am horrified by what I have done"__  
_Leatherhead,_ "It Came From The Depths "  
_.

It was early on a Sunday evening: the unremarkable two-storey warehouse stood quiet. The summer sun was drawing back into itself, replaced by shade barely cooler than the sun-scorched air. Up on the building's roof, Karai shifted in her leathers, trying in vain to aerate her cloying armour. She grimaced. "You miscreants know the plan?"

"Yes, Miss-stresss", Fishface rasped gleefully, "Poissson Donatello to deathhh."

"Three chances. Shoot to kill", Rahzar elaborated.

"Excellent, _mongrel_. Yes, we have three loaded darts." She held up her three middle fingers, then closed them into a menacing backfist, parroting her Father's trademark gesture. "The poison is of course rare, has no known antidote, and is incredibly – _efficient_. The toxin indiscriminately dissolves cell walls, including those of blood vessels. Once the poison enters the bloodstream… Think of an aqueduct that dissolves as it contacts the water it's carrying. Even if the poison doesn't diffuse past Donatello's veins: if heart failure doesn't kill him in moments, then massive internal hemorrhaging will."

Karai paused to meditate on the reality of what she was about to do, then looked coldly at her henchmutants.

Lost in Karai's grotesque explanation, Fishface wore an unabashed look of rapt ecstasy that, quite frankly, revolted Karai. Noticing her perturbed facial expression, Rahzar looked over at the piscine thug. In the same awkward moment, Karai and Rahzar diverted their eyes. Karai loudly cleared her throat. Fishface's eyes refocused and his cherry-flushed skin returned to its usual livid fuchsia. Only his post-coital leer remained.

"It appears that Michelangelo and Donatello came to steal from The Foot. And Hamato Yoshi calls _us_ criminals: what a _hypocrite_. Once inside, we will split up. Rahzar, you will scout for Donatello from below. If you find him, bring him to me. Fishface, you and I will keep to high ground: death from above."

The Shredder's daughter motioned for Fishface and Rahzar to slip through an opening cut out of the warehouse brick wall, made to hoist large shipments in and out of the building. Following the lead of their _chunin_, and despite their massive forms, both mutants swung lightly onto the second floor mezzanine. Karai frowned at the low, hollow echo made as Fishface's robotic legs landed on the metal path.

Their high perch offered an unobstructed view of most of the main floor. Despite the building's dingy early 20th century frame, the interior was a modern well-lit retrofit, apt for stripping and modifying stolen tech, particularly mobile phones.

Silently, Karai motioned Rahzar to descend to the main floor and scope the areas blocked from view by stacks of wooden crates and palettes. To Fishface, she indicated he hold position. The henchfish and his mistress scanned the floor below for movement, and turtle shells. Blending almost imperceptibly into the background, Raph's beige trench coats were well worth the discomfort.

**...**

Michelangelo stopped in his tracks, snout atilt, nostrils flared. Prickles of fresh sweat stung his skin. An animalic note of _Hai Karate_ soured by ambergris flooded his mucous membranes. The pungent bouquet recalled brutality and menace. And annoyance. Annoyance and hurt. Mikey still rued that his naïve idolatry of Bradford, the once-human superstar ninja master, had been repaid with ridicule and worse. The orange banded turtle turned to face the direction of the scent.

Rahzar loomed several feet away, picking his way towards the young testudine, his eyeshine eerily floating out of the gloom.

Something tugged in the recesses of Mikey's convoluted mind. **_My son, to win any battle of any kind you must read your opponent. _**Intuitively, Mikey guided the conversation.

"Oh, hey, Rahzar. If you stay stuck in the 1970s long enough, that aftershave's bound to be on-trend again at _some point_. Miss your _human_ self, much?"

Rahzar leaned towards Michelangelo and growled low and long. "I'm three times the ninja I ever was. I could only _dream_ of having this kinda power in my human form."

"Sure. _Totes_. _Such_ power, being Shredder's daughter's flunky." Mikey narrowed his eyes, spitefully squishing his freckles together. Casually swinging a nunchuk, he added, "Guess she got that _puppy_ she wanted for Christmas after all."

**_PLINK!_**_ The first yellow disc dropped into place._**_  
_**

Never the sharpest shiv in the clink, Rahzar allowed himself to be upset by Mikey's on-target jibes. Drawing up to his full height, each skeletal hand the anchor for five razor-edged claws, the hound prepared to drop his bio-weaponry on Michelangelo.

Mikey kept talking, mimicking sympathy. "Believe me, as the runt of _my_ litter, I get it. All your anger at being treated like a tool? Take it out on me if it helps you to deal. But you might wanna' let my bro' alone…"

Rahzar's reply was seismic in its rumbling. "And why is that, _peon_?"

**_A Column of Doom. It is the empty vertical line that you make when you position your pieces just so. _**Bright with inspiration, Mikey slipped the fiction from his lips. "Because: _retro-mutagen_".

Rahzar looked unbearably nonplussed.

Mikey continued his proclamation. "Donatello has invented the antidote to mutagen. **_Retro_**_-mutagen_. Retro as in _seventies aftershave_. D's science potion _reverses_ the mutagen's mojo, puts _any_ mutant back to 'GO', original state and everything."

**_PLINK!_**_ The second __yellow disc dropped into the grid._**_  
_**

The terrible hound hesitated, proof that Mikey's yarn had snagged its target.

In truth, Donnie was only beginning to devise what a retro-mutagen might be. The über-genius was still stumped about how to reverse engineer what was, for each person, a uniquely random, entropic biochemical reaction. But _Rahzar_ didn't need to know _that_, thought a smug Mikey.

"So _what_?", rumbled Rahzar, "I lose all this _strength_? Go back to bein' _human_? The Foot Clan "_Golden Boy_" I _used_ to be, famous and adored by-…", Rahzar trailed off as the reality of returning to Chris Bradford sunk in, disarming his resolve, sowing malcontent and uncertainty in his rancorous mind.

**_The Column of Doom is a cunning play. You effectively remove options for your enemy._** "Yeah", Mikey pressed forefinger to chin in agreement, "that would be _terrible_."

**_PLUNK!_**

Suddenly Rahzar stopped short. "Why're you wearin' a raincoat, dweeb?" He started laughing meanly at Mikey's awkward ensemble.

"Yeah, laugh it up, big guy. Let's let everyone know you're here. Um. Who _is_ here, by the way? You're never too far away from your RoboCarp bromate …" Mikey quickly scanned around him, listening for movement, then turned back to Rahzar. "…What are _you_ doing here anyway? Seems like a lot of effort just to hang with me."

Something dark turned in Rahzar's expression, and Mikey felt a cold bloom of unease fill his chest. Slowly, he backed away, keeping his sack of scavenged Kraang tech as low on his shell as possible.

"Well, always a blast, Rahzar." Throwing down a smoke bomb, Michelangelo vanished from the area and hustled back to his brother. It was time to breeze.

**...**

Donnie was delighted at how well this whole endeavour had gone. He'd picked up the parts he needed, found some other gems of tech along the way, and with any luck would be back in the Lair and fixing his phone within hours. Then: _APRIL TIME! _

He packed up his satchel, gently shifting the various parts to evenly balance the bag's weight. Just about to heave the sack's strap over his shoulder he noticed Mikey's T-phone taped to the security camera.

Setting the bag back down, Donnie climbed up on a nearby table to reclaim his little bro's cell, their only line of communication with the Lair. He lowered himself back down, collected his satchel and exited the clean room.

...

"_THERE_", hissed Karai. "He's in that central room. The one conveniently made of glass walls", she sing-songed wryly.

"Yessss", affirmed Fishface, "I see his wavy, purple bandanaaaa. Which could only look good next to such an unfashionable trench coat."

Not beneath stereotyping, Karai smirked at what she perceived was _Queer Eye for the Mutant Guy_. She'd pay a lot of her father's money to see Fishface take someone on a shopping spree.

Instead, she quickly kneeled down and unlocked the case containing the three darts. "Looks like we don't need Rahzar's recon after all", she noted. In a good mood because she was going to kill something, she said, politely, "Hold this, please". She handed Fishface the open gun case to hold for her while she carefully removed and loaded three darts into the gun's chamber.

**...**

Barely out of the clean room, instinctively Donatello drew his bo and started swinging. His instinct could only be ascribed to years of ninja training and the very unscientifically named "sixth-sense" that he had honed under Splinter's grueling regimes.

Don's bo helicoptered so fast that the first dart barely registered, its only evidence was the sound of metal clinking across the concrete floor. As he continued to block his unseen attackers he saw Mikey running towards him. _Good. Time to escape._ Bo whirling, Donnie felt a light impact. He decelerated the staff's arc and noticed with satisfaction a small dart embedded in the wooden shaft. Quickly, with his left hand he plucked out this second dart, and dropped it in his satchel for investigation back home.

_Now, to ghost away with Mikey_. Lightning quick, Don swung his bo back into its harness. Only when he lowered his right hand did he notice the third dart stuck into his knuckle.

Just as his mind processed that a dart had found its mark, he felt another small impact. Suddenly, his hand was cut and bleeding, and the dart that had just pierced him was gone, projected somewhere onto the floor. A loud crack to his right drew his eye: what looked like a black scythe stuck into a wall.

Then, Donnie's thoughts were obliterated by a massive impact followed by indescribable pain. His elbow felt like it had detonated. _Why did it look like his arm was on the ground?_ Confusion swirled with agony and his vision blurred. Out of nothing Donatello's plastron collided with what felt like a tractor trailer truck. The massive impact sucked all the air out his lungs and ejected his body at a horrifying velocity into the brick wall. The plates of Donnie's carapace screamed as they ground at high-speed across the wall's stone and mortar, grinding his scutes, shredding his leathers from his back, and splintering his bo staff to shards.

Michelangelo didn't realize that his own ragged shriek was amplifying the terrifying noise. Crumpled face down, Donatello's cracked body was red, so red. Redder than fury, deeper than anguish. Blackened with grime.

**...**

**Minutes earlier…**

Returning from his errands, Leatherhead arrived at the warehouse's loading bay. Here was an adequately large storm drain that allowed his colossal girth passage into the sewers. Nestled in the crook of his giant's elbow, a paper grocers' bag was sagging as moisture condensed off a gallon container of frozen pigs' blood. Aside from his concern about the blood thawing, Leatherhead worried that the condensation would seep into his box of scones. He needed to get someplace cooler, quickly, before his groceries spoiled. Clearly, it was time to meet back with Michelangelo and Donatello.

The Croc sidled to the lip of the loading bay. With his free arm, he cranked up the locked metal loading door like it was a cat flap, easily splitting the lock's thick iron bolt. Once indoors, he daintily closed the limp gate against the hot sunshine.

Eyes calibrating to the dim interior, his fovea fished for photons. Even before his pupils had adjusted he caught scent of Michelangelo's fear, mingled with the reek of Rahzar's aftershave. _Horrid, horrid aftershave._ _No wonder Michelangelo was distressed._ Carefully, Leatherhead placed his grocery bag on floor and dissolved his mass into the shadows, a hunter's instinct. Something would be done about that aftershave. It was enough to put all of them off his Sunday tea.

Nose tucked into his chest, Leatherhead peered sneakily around a stack of crates. Michelangelo and Rahzar were to his left. Donatello, to his right. _Hmmmm: left it was_. Just as Leatherhead slunk towards Rahzar, his young friend vanished in a puff of purple smoke. Leatherhead smiled: _How wonderful that Michelangelo was so playful and yet so formidable. Complexity was the spice of life._

About to descend on Rahzar, he froze as his nostrils picked up another sour odour, bitter and choking even though only nanograms of it had docked with his olfactory receptors. Swinging his giant head to his right, Leatherhead's pupils dilated further as he watched Donatello pluck a dart from the shaft of his bo and overlook the dart hanging off the back of his hand.

**...**

It wasn't until the split-second that Rahzar saw Karai's last dart find its mark in Donatello's hand that the hellhound realized that he wanted his humanity back. And in order to achieve that end, he had to save his enemy's life. The dart was hanging loosely; maybe the toxin hadn't ejected. Femtoseconds raced as Rahzar's subconscious calculated risk and reward. Flinging a stiletto claw at the Turtle to dislodge the poison dart projecting from his hand would look to Karai like an attack gone wrong. For him, that wouldn't be entirely unprecedented. He ejected his claw.

**_PLUNK!_**

**...**

_Faaaaaaak thaaaaaad_, Fishface swore to himself. _That ridiculoussss Hound had dislodged the verrry spike that would down that horrendous purple banded Turtle_.

Fishface had a yen on for slaughter. He launched himself off the walkway to fulfill his craving, his joints' pneumatics arching him tens of feet in the air and across the warehouse to land directly in front of Donatello.

**...**

The site of syringes provoked a guttural keen from Leatherhead even though no tiny dart would penetrate his armoured hide. Even if it did, the poison would disintegrate in his Kraang-enhanced super-antimicrobial blood. Rather, it was the toxin's lethal bouquet that had shot his body through with adrenaline. Later on, Leatherhead couldn't recall if Michelangelo's scream had met his ears before or at the same time that he launched himself at Donatello.

Behind his nictitating membranes the crocodilian's eyes frothed wildly as his jaws slammed thousands of pounds of force into and through Donatello's elbow joint. And then Fishface landed in front of them both.

**...**

Mikey noticed that no one was attacking or shooting anything at him, in fact, no one except Rahzar seemed to even notice that he was there. All the attention was on his genius bro-… **OHSHELL**. Flashes of Raphael's incident with The Foot's kyosuu fruit poison darts came flooding back, and he just knew that this time the poison wouldn't be as likely to have an antidote. Everything happened within seconds of itself, events almost folding over in spacetime. The dart. The projectile dagger-claw. Michelangelo almost stopped running towards his brother, so stupefied was he by Leatherhead's attack of Donatello. Through sheer muscle memory, his feet continued flying against the concrete. His fury and distress doubled as he saw Fishface land on the ground in front of his brother.

Stupidly, Mikey's first reaction was to throw several smoke bombs at him.

**...**

Initially Karai was horrified. The plan was dissolving in front of her eyes. She'd used the last dart, which seemed to have met its target. But then Rahzar had dislodged the dart with his terribly bad aim! Next, that deranged crocodilian had intervened, ripping off the Turtle's lower arm such that the poison wouldn't continue into his bloodstream. And yet: when she saw the scarlet, arterial blood pumping from Donatello's ragged elbow joint, her hope was renewed that he would bleed out. But then – more insanity!? Fishface…?!

The instant Fishface landed he spun into a roundhouse kick, using his momentum to propel and rotate his massive legs into Donatello's plastron, launching him so fast and so hard that, instead of going through the wall he crashed into, the kinetic energy propelled him for meters along the wall's length. Gore streaked across meters of brick. And then her view was obscured by violet smoke.

Satisfied that Donatello would soon be dead from his injuries if not also the poison, Karai ordered Rahzar and Fishface to disperse. Before she ghosted away, from her second storey perch she recorded a minute of the chaos below, the audio dominated by Mikey's sobs and pleas to Donnie to _wake up_. She managed to capture a clear view of Donatello's shell, at least one plate ground out of existence, his soft flesh visible and pulsing as blood ebbed out of the yawning wound. _Father will get a kick out of this._

**...**

The next hour was an exercise in not freaking out. Everything felt surreal to Michelangelo, a nightmare he had to wake up from.

Leatherhead however had survived similarly traumatic situations and was more pragmatic. Donatello was unconscious but breathing, in soft painful-sounding rasps. The Croc removed Don's trench coat from all but his right arm, then tied the fabric as tightly as was safe to do so around the stump to slow the bleeding from his elbow. From the ground he collected Donatello's detached lower arm, wrapping it in what fabric of the coat remained free.

Then, he removed Mikey's trench coat, whispering soothing syllables to his friend, and bundled Donnie inside, protecting the exposed cavity of his thorax as best he could. Carrying Don as delicately as possible, Leatherhead led Michelangelo back into the sewers and towards home.

When Mikey finally found his shell-cell in Don's satchel, his shaking fingers fumbled to dial The Cheese Phone. For the first minute after Master Splinter picked up, all he heard was his youngest son crying inconsolably.

**...**

Hours later, the quart of pig's blood continued to thaw, the scones to wilt and crumble, in the oppressive summer heat.

* * *

_You made it to the end!? Well, THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading! I hope that this longer update didn't drag and made sense and that you liked it, even if it was totally grim and OMG what will happen to Donnie?! Feedback is always very welcome and appreciated! XD  
p.s._ Hai Karate _aftershave was reintroduced in 2014._


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